


Of Trading Cards and Battle Scars

by Camlann



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Alternate Reality, Alternate Universe, M/M, Power Swap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-08
Updated: 2013-09-04
Packaged: 2017-12-10 19:29:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 31,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/789315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Camlann/pseuds/Camlann
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s lucky the weeks he doesn’t come home with a black eye for standing up to a bully. He’s extremely lucky those weeks because his name doesn’t get shuffled around the diner that his Ma works at anymore than it already does. He just goes straight home because he has work to do and that’s that.</p><p>Except for Wednesdays. Wednesdays are special because he gets to run down to the corner store and buy a new comic. He gets some time to sit at the table and read it before math and arithmetic. He gets to have a few hours with his superhero.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It’s starts out simple.

There is a baby boy born near the end of the summer in August to high school sweethearts, small but not sickly and surprisingly loud. When his mother and father bring him home to a small brownstone with an herb garden on the railing of the balcony, they hang stars for a mobile above his head. And maybe that’s when it starts, the reaching for the white and blue spinning shapes before he knew what they were. But it’s not the one he remembers.

He’s just a kid from Brooklyn and he wants to grow up, up, up to be the best superhero there ever was. And that’s Captain America because there’s a picture book that a little girl from the class below him shows him at school one day of a big, strong man who could save her from the bullies. And he wants to be that, so badly, that the little boy makes himself and little Katherine a promise. He’s going to be that man one day. Exactly like him. Big and strong and he starts right then when that older girl comes to steal Kat’s book.

He defends her and gets a hard slap for it but Kat keeps her book and he has a little girl holding onto his hand when his Ma comes to pick him up that day. He also has two trading cards that Kat gives him with the Captain on them to start his little collection, her brother not needing them anymore because he’s all “adult” now at eleven.

So he starts to wear the stars and stripes to bed, he makes sure his uniform is tidy and neat before he heads off to school with a tin lunch pail with the same red, white, and blue on it, and he covers his bedroom with posters. When school ends, he comes home. There wasn’t much time for friends when one had to do chores and help the elderly lady upstairs take her dogs for a walk for five dollars every other week.

He’s lucky the weeks he doesn’t come home with a black eye for standing up to a bully. He’s extremely lucky those weeks because his name doesn’t get shuffled around the diner that his Ma works at anymore than it already does. He just goes straight home because he has work to do and that’s that.

Except for Wednesdays. Wednesdays are special because he gets to run down to the corner store and buy a new comic. He gets some time to sit at the table and read it before math and arithmetic. He gets to have a few hours with his superhero.

By the time he gets done, Pop is home from work but already gone to wherever he goes and Ma is cooking dinner while he goes over his math and reading. He has a knack for art and he sketches if he finishes early, books filled with shields and stars and battle. His mother worries, his father sighs, but they think it a childhood fancy that will pass.

It isn’t. Not really. Instead, it grows. And Captain America goes from childhood star to teenage idol in the blink of an eye.

The posters in his room turn into more stately, framed memorabilia that is rather well taken care of if he says so himself. Of course he has the old and battered tin lunch pail, now secured away in his closet in an airtight box to keep it from rusting. That is also where most of his comic books lay, well read but now in their individual sleeves to keep the dust away. He took care with his things, after all, and when Pop left... or died, he should say. Never came back before he turned fourteen and a year later showed up local again, only this time in the morgue. Well, after that, the comics were a hobby that Ma encouraged through and through. A strong man who chased his dreams and became more? Yes. Ma was sure proud that her son had chosen the right man to look up to.

Of course, she still worried when none of the friends stuck. When the principal called and said her son was being a bit “recluse” and couldn’t she talk to him? And she did, to which he responded with a bowed head and a word or two. He was filling out fine, no one bothered him anymore, he was thick around the chest and strong in the arms. Long of the leg. Handsome, by all standards, except that he kept getting in the way of punches. Ribs scattered with bruises because bullies know where to hit so that teachers don’t notice at that age.

So he sat in the library, volunteered to work there when he could, took a part time job down at the arcade to help out his Ma with the bills.

Four years and every day, he put a pin on the inside of his collar of a little kite shield to remind him where he was headed. He hadn’t told his Ma yet, he didn’t want to go round robin with her when he’d picked up that flyer in the counseling office. She knew still, of course, and he knew that she knew. The PTA was a bunch of gossip hounds and several other words that would have the teen washing his tongue with soap if they were heard in his house. But if he didn’t bring it up then it didn’t exist, at least for a little while longer.

The Army. The place that needed men to fight for a cause that was worth dying for. The place the Captain had gone into because there were people out there that couldn’t fight for themselves, who were being bullied by someone powerful enough to sometimes take their lives, and couldn’t come home without someone taking their place.

The teen was ready for that, he knew it, and he went about his business day in and day out. He works out and keeps standing back up when beaten down by other kids or stress, preparing for the life ahead that would start just as soon as he got his grades up. Which he does. Math is good, extras are good, art is always an A. Science... he could do better on, more definitely. Okay, biology he could have done a ton better in but he’s pretty happy with his C. Some things his brain just doesn’t seem to want to understand to the extent the teachers want. But he pulls his mark off and he’s proud of it. As he should be.

Eighteen and he was going to graduate high school. It was a day to celebrate, really. But Ma was working and had just been able to see him walk before having to rush off to the diner and no one else was worth much of his time by then. He wasn’t alone. He was just... lonely.

His art teacher finds him, cap and gown and pin and all, on the bleachers on the practice fields. Empty today except for the odd family walking through to get to their cars. She hands him a gift, wrapped in brown paper, and he knows it’s one of two he’ll get today along with a slice of whatever pie they have left over when his Ma gets off work. So the young man opens it and finds an autobiography of his favorite hero and a ticket to the nearest bus station to get him to the local recruitment office.

He salutes Miss Holly as she leaves before he starts the first chapter.

He ends up staying into the evening, reading about Phil Coulson as he was instead of how he’d become. Well... there was a part of the last bit too but he’s was more interested in the glossy photos of a man who was small. Very small. Smaller than he’d been before he’d filled out. One who when he looks into his eyes, he sees something he feels. And the young man hopes that his Ma hasn’t caught that look in his eyes in his photos. He knows she has but... it’s a hope.

When he walks home that day, no longer in the blue of his school colors. Those are over his arm, neatly folded to go in a memory box. The problem is that he thinks he may just be a bit head over heels.

Which is a problem because when he’s lying on his bed to sleep that night, the teen is surrounded by a man he’s admired for so long and now understands just a bit of what admiration can lead to. He thinks. It’s a start of something but he’s not quite sure what. He’s never been in love because, he’s goofed around with a few girls and guys, but this warms him down to his core. The back of his neck goes hot and the boy turns over to bury his face in his pillow, smile too wide as he reaches over to turn off the light.

In the morning, there’s a duffel and a weeping mother who is trying not to because he’s her “big boy” and has been thinking of this for years. A ticket in his hand and only one book in his possession, the bookmark an old trading card, with what little clothes he thinks he’ll need. It’s not a long goodbye, the bus will be going soon and Ma has work. Ma always has work and thin arms wrap around broad shoulders to say goodbye, words silent because there’s nothing more to say.

And off into the Army Steve Rogers goes.

 


	2. Boot Camp

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe Steve is just determined. Maybe it’s that he has a laminated and faded trading card tucked under his pillow to remind him of what he can accomplish if he sets his mind to it. Maybe it’s that his Ma is on the phone every weekend with stories of home and sending courage in every pause she takes when she talks to him. Or maybe he just really wants David to shut up about how much he accomplished in college but seems to sometimes fail at doing things here.

_2004_

_Boot Camp - Fort Jackson in Columbia, South Carolina_

**Red Phase (Weeks 1-3)**

“You’re doing extremely well, Rogers,” came the rough voice of his commanding officer in the mess and Steve does an about face before he even gets to sit down to enjoy what appears to be meatloaf but is under suspicion of being some sort of mushroom blend passing as meat. Could be worse, the private supposes, though as he looks up at Drill Sergeant Samson he can’t even think about food. He stands straight, no matter how tired or sore he is after this first week, and hands rest at the small of his back naturally now, as he dips his head.

“Thank you, Drill Sergeant.”

“At ease, boy,” the large man laughs and smacks Steve on the shoulder, causing him to drop his arms and stand a little less strict. There’s still a straightness there that seems to catch everyone’s eye but he’s not one to go down without a fight and if that meant keeping his wits and making sure his spine never bent, so be it. It was the least he could do, a hero turned into an idle turned into a longing for achieving his best like the Captain had surfacing in him strong and proud. “You sure know how to hold yourself, ya know that? Eat your dinner then take a walk. Down to the offices, you’ll find me there.”

“Yes, Drill Sergeant...”

Samson is already gone and Steve slides into his seat and just kind of stares at his food for a moment. Oh. Well. That wasn’t probably...

“All bets says he talks to you about you taking Jefferson down the other day,” David says, sliding in next to him. David Shapiro, good guy, bad rep because his dad was in the Air Force and he took to a different branch. But Steve liked him well enough and they were battle buddies. Two by two and back to back they could pretty much talk each other out of anything. And reverse, which became not so good when trying to talk their way into the kitchens for a late night snack when they were supposed to be in their barracks. It happened once and never again but still, once it had happened. “Knew he threw the first punch but seriously man, how fast can you move?”

“Not fast enough, I have a bruise the size of a melon on my ribs.”

“Yeah well, you deserve it. You could have just pushed him back.”

“I did. He had my dog tags.”

David makes a strangled noise of surprise and anger to which Steve shrugs, almost inhaling his food before he walks with the other man down to the offices. They’ve gotten used to walking everywhere together, no new recruits supposed to walk alone, and David takes a seat out in the hallway while Steve raps on Samson’s door. The kurt “Enter” has the young man steeling himself and walking through to stand at rest before the man’s desk.

“Have a seat Rogers, we’ve got some things to talk about.”

“Yes Drill Sergeant.”

There’s no questions, there’s only a flick of blue eyes to make sure he’s sitting in the right chair, and then there’s silence as Steve waits for something. Another shoe to drop. Some sort of order. A reaming, though he feels he would have been kept standing for that so that’s good news. He thinks.

“You were overheard saying you wanted to be in the special forces, kid.” At the surprise in blue eyes, the Sergeant raised a brow at the young man opposite him. “Total control, Rogers. We’re watching and getting a feel for all of you. Seeing where you need corrections. We’re bound to pick things up here and there. I also know that you were roughhousing with that young’un Jefferson because he mouthed off to that friend of yours.”

“Yes Drill Sergeant.”

“Did it work itself out?”

“Yes Drill Sergeant.”

“Good. You’ve got a good heart in your chest, Rogers. You keep using it though, might get you into more of a scuffle than that.”

Steve’s gaze drifted down with a quieter “Yes Sir” before Samson tapped the desk to bring his gaze back up. He’s being observed and the young man tries to stay as open as he can to whatever the other is looking for. The Private is only eighteen, right from high school to basic training. And he wants to go further, keep going until he can find a steady place for himself in this world. A place he can be proud of, following in the footsteps of someone that he’s looked up to.

Well, not following exactly. They’d stopped the Super Soldier efforts way back when and by now, Steve was simply determined to fulfill the dream of becoming someone that others could look up to without a worry. Some to make his mother proud. Maybe even someone that the Captain would have liked to shake the hand of.

“Kid,” Samson starts, voice lower but not any sort of softer. “I have seen you push yourself in classes and in training to points other guys at least stop for a breather. You want to be in the special forces, you’ve got to go above and beyond yourself. Push those limits you hit and beat them. Got it?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Now get out of my office.”

And Steve did exactly that. David needs to be kicked in the boots to wake him up from where he has fallen asleep, head back and mouth open to catch moths apparently. Steve just shakes his head and they plod out of the offices together, quick to their barracks for some rest before it’s their turn on fire guard.

“No good stories then?” David asked, rubbing at his hair as he and Steve settled into their bunk. “Come on, Samson calls you in and no good stories?”

“No good stories, Shapiro. Afraid you’ll have to wait until we’re out of basic for those.”

“You’re no fun.”

“I’m not, no.”

“Bitch.”

“Jerk.”

Steve reaches up and smacks the other’s shoulder with a chuckle before turning over and finally shutting his eyes for some good old fashioned twenty winks.

 

\------

Week one done and over with, week two doesn’t seem like it might be so bad. From the start, Steve realizes he’s very, very wrong. It’s not that it’s any harder, it’s that it’s different. Different muscles, different mindsets, different techniques. Steve makes the switch into the mindset like water of a stone, easy and forgiving to spill over the sides. However, the different muscles bit has him laying in his bunk at night with David shuffling above him doing breathing techniques because ow.

Hand to hand it turns out he’s really good with.

Heights aren’t so much a problem but they do set him ill at ease.

Teamwork training is far easier when one of them steps up to make a plan and becomes the oil for the machine to run and Steve gladly takes on any role to lead.

First aid is simple enough but he’s not entire good with it.

Map reading and navigation aren’t easy but he and his team get through it mostly unscathed. David claims poison ivy. Steve claims stupidity and no, he’s not helping with the lotion.

By the end though, the recruit never expects to be the one chosen to compete for his platoon. Apparently, he really is that good and David swaggers next to him to where the culmalitive will take place. Steve, on the other hand, just wants to do his best and tries to stay in that mindset of training, fighting, take down his opponent.

It seems to work for him because after being beaten up and over hill and dale, he’s come out on top. He fights fair, of course, and hard. Straight and true and fast. There’s eyes on him that haven’t been there before, Steve can feel them, and he’s not really used to that when he’s always been one of the crowd. But he sets his stance, thinks that if the Captain can get through his USO tours alright, he can get through a little bit of audience watching him throw a few (or a few dozen) punches. And if he ends up collapsing into his bed that night with a full stomach and half a dozen black bruises slowly turning yellow on him, he’s not going to complain. It’s been a good week.

When he wakes up though, it’s to another one, and he has to try to not take his pillow with him.

Maybe Steve is just determined. Maybe it’s that he has a laminated and faded trading card tucked under his pillow to remind him of what he can accomplish if he sets his mind to it. Maybe it’s that his Ma is on the phone every weekend with stories of home and sending courage in every pause she takes when she talks to him. Or maybe he just really wants David to _shut up_ about how much he accomplished in college but seems to sometimes fail at doing things here.

The fact that he has a tendency to wake up with his palm over the trading card tells the recruit just where his heart and his determination lies.

Whatever it is though, it pulls him through learning how to carry others in different states of health and consciousness, and then his gas mask tests. The latter are much more difficult than he’d originally given them credit for, even after going through all the training on how to use his mask. A telling pause as he rattles off his name and number saying that yes the little amount of gas he has inhaled has affected him but he can focus through it. He is much happier to breath clean air outside the chamber though and ends up appreciating air just a little bit more.

Then he gets his hands on a M4 carbine assault rifle, learning the ins and outs of it because Steve knows he’ll be shooting it in later weeks. Right now, his brain is not being helpful. He can’t remember what is coming next week but he knows what is right now and that’s all that matters. So field strip, clean, assemble, repeat.

When the week is done, the recruit feels he’s accomplished more than he ever has in his life and breathes in the scent of his pillow before rolling over and fiddling with his trading card.

“You’re never going to meet him,” David points out, knocking his feet out of the way and ducking under the frame that keeps his own bed up high. “He’s gone, Stevie. There’s no coming back from what he went down in. Which was a blaze of glory, mind, but still a blaze.”

“I know that.”

“Then why hold onto that old thing?”

“It... gives me hope. That I can be more than what everyone thinks I should or could be.”

David doesn’t have anything to say to that and he just nods in understanding, a picture of a baby girl in his own foot locker because everyone had something that gave them that drive to do what they could. They sit like that for a bit, not looking at each other, trading card rocked back and forth between Steve’s fingers as David closes his eyes and relaxes back against the struts of the bed. It’s been a long few weeks and they still had six more to go.

They’ve come this far though and finally, Steve moves and knocks a knee into David’s. The man snorted in amusement and backhanded said knee before scampering up to his top bunk and Steve rolled over onto his stomach. He only lifts his head from his pillow when his friend’s voice drifts from above him.

“If you ever got to meet him though... what would you say?”

There’s a million and one things the eighteen year old would tell the man. That he adored him as a child, that he he never missed a comic book, that the man was his hero. That the shield was more than just a shield to him, that he felt it protected him from time to time, that he gained strength from reading about the Captain like he did. That he looked up to him when Pop left and that his Ma wished that he could have met him when he was a kid to counteract the negative of a dying father.

That he loved him more than he’d really like to admit to for being a teenager and supposedly not understanding that kind of thing yet. But he didn’t know what else to _call it_ so love it was.

“I’d tell him thank you. For everything.”

And that’s that.

 

\------

**White Phase (Weeks 4-6)**

Training with his rifle is actually pretty... well, he wouldn’t want to say fun. It’s a weapon and he treated it as such. But it does give him a sense that he’s on the right path. The weight of it, the feeling of the first fired rounds, the realization that he’s going to have a bruise on his shoulder because he hasn’t set the gun just perfectly so and the kick had a yelp leaving his lips and laughter from a few others around him until someone did it worse. The weight of the responsibility sits heavy on his shoulders for a few days before he shakes it and lifts it with the knowledge that he’s doing the right thing.  

That’s when the ease starts to come. The ease into work and testing and pushing himself beyond his limits. He doesn’t compare himself with anyone else in his platoon, he only compares to what he’s done before. If Steve can beat himself, than he’s done what he’s set out to do. Samson’s words ring in his ears from after week one and the recruit puts his head down and works. Works hard and fast and smart. He knows he’s being watched by his drill sergeant, he knows that he’s being watched by a few others too, like David who gives him a hard time but something like pride shines in the warm brown eyes of the older man from time to time.

Steve feels that’s enough for now. That he’s making his friend and superiors at least notice him but not call him out. He doesn’t get rewards, nor is he the best in the company except in hand to hand. But he’s up there with the title of “Sharpshooter” to David’s “Expert” with the rifles and Steve likes it that way.

Tall, blonde, built, but unnoticed to a high extent and doing his duty to his country. That was fine by him because of that last part.

The recruit learns about tanks and runs the obstacle course with David and ends up whooping at the end as they high five because they’ve done better than expected. Steve handles grenade launchers and machine guns and can tell Samson in a breath which grenades are which on a good day. Five breaths on a bad one.

And there are some bad days. Days where Steve’s natural inclination to sleep in fires off and he doesn’t want to leave his bunk. Days where a light drizzle makes everything muddy and cold and misty in a way that soaks everything down to the bones without being much more than a sprinkle from cloudy skies. Where he sits on his bunk at the end of the day and scrubs at his face and lets himself hang because no one is back from dinner yet and David is talking with someone at the door instead of on his bunk above him.

It’s those days that Steve takes out his trading card or reads the biography that Miss Holly gave him. It’s those days where he trudges to the phone and makes a call home to just hear his Ma’s voice and wonders if she’s really as okay as she says she is. It’s those days that he prays before he goes to bed that he can find the will to keep going, keep moving, keep striving for what he wants and not let his background get him down. Not let homesickness move him to quit and pack up and go home.

But he ends up always standing back up. A lesson learned from his dear Captain and Steve has taken it to heart a long time ago.

It gets him through. Phil Coulson gets him through, and the next time Steve calls home or sits on his bunk to rest, it’s because he’s tired physically. He’s all wound up mentally and he finds that breathing, really taking a moment to go “shhh” to himself and collect the far out thoughts to reign them back in, is exactly what he needs when a pencil isn’t behind his ear and a sketchbook is nowhere in sight. He learns, he adapts, he builds up muscles he didn’t know existed and passes his physical training with flying colors. He tests with the weapons, he passes there too.

Wake, work, pass. It’s not that easy but to Steve, it’s how he divides it up to make sense. To block off his life into compartments instead of long lines of situations that flow one into the next. How he controls little bits of his life so it doesn’t feel like it’s all being controlled for him.

He doesn't know if he believes in Fate or Destiny. He knows there’s a plan for him that he can choose to follow or not. That every choice is one that decides what happens tomorrow or next week or next month. And he has a pretty good role model, if he does say so himself. With the Captain as his guiding star, what could go wrong? Steve doesn’t think he can and he just grins at the end of every day because that’s another day down that he passed his tests. He’s one step closer to graduation and one step closer being the man he wants to be. Which is not, surprisingly, the Captain anymore. Steve determines that the world will never need another Captain America, certainly. So he works to adopt the life lessons that Phil Coulson taught him through the wielding of a shield, through the way he carried the ideal.

Because the Captain was a man, Steve thinks one night when he can’t sleep and has taken to reflecting moonlight off the trading card while his platoon sleeps around him. And if he can grow and be a man that others can look up to, that others feel safe around, than he’s accomplished something great. Something truly worthy of the life he has. Because it’s a small life, one that no one really thought would grow into much, but it was all his.

Steve doesn’t want to be the Captain anymore. But he does want to be as good as him. As kind as him. As brave as him. And Steve thinks that’s a pretty good goal to set for himself.

 

\------

**Blue Phase (Weeks 7-9)**

He should have guessed that something also known as the “Warrior Phase” was going to kick his ass.

Steve passes the final physical fitness test, sore but alright. He does better than all his previous tests as well, which puts a smile on his face as he sleeps that night. Because like Hell is he doing anything but sleeping after something like that. It does, however, mean he moves on and the recruit rolls out of bed the next day to grab a pack he’s put together previously and head out for more training.

Field problems, nighttime combat, and Meals Ready to Eat are all on his radar now and Steve forces himself to stop listening to everything Samson says. Because he’s making it difficult and it takes Steve a couple days to realize it’s on purpose. He gets through, better than average but still in that space of not the best. But he’s doing _his_ best, so the recruit is pretty proud of himself. Especially after working around something Samson had done to foil a well laid plan, tactical skills coming into play and Steve found out that his common sense really should be listened to on more than just the odd occasion. Of course, at the end of it, Steve faceplants on a mat in a tent with David, a promise that he will never, ever be ungrateful for a greasy cheeseburger again.

He misses real food. Okay, so he misses Ma’s pie from the diner the most, but a few more weeks and he’ll probably get a slice. If he’s lucky.

And she remembers to take time off to come to graduation.

Thankfully, he has what it takes to be cleared for Advanced Individual Training. And Steve knows exactly where he’s going to go too, which is a decision off his shoulders if he can pass all the right classes and tests. He ends up taking care of his things, practicing for graduation, and getting pinned to his dress uniform when he’s being fitted for it. David laughs his ass off for that one but it’s muted. They both know they won’t be seeing each other after this final week is over and done with. And if they do, it’s going to be very different for both of them.

They follow their platoon leader. It’s as easy as that. They work hard and talk longer than before. Steve finds that he’s going to miss David, despite his tendency to tease or even worse give him noogies. Or call him ‘Stevie’ in front of others. He’s his first real friend, someone he shares things with, someone he laughs and works with.

And Steve really doesn’t want to let that go.

 

\------

**Graduation**

It’s nothing like high school.

And yet, it’s everything like high school, because Steve ends up sitting alone after this one too, Ma not able to make it and he just somewhat sighs. It’s not surprising, the water heater broke so she’s taken on some extra shifts. It’s just... he wishes she could have seen him and he ends up with the Captain again, reading until he hears a familiar yell from the crowds that are slowly leaking away from the camp for celebrating.

David’s little girl has flowers for him and Steve swings her up in his arms, shaking the hands of his battle buddy’s parents. He met them on Family Day, giving a running story about how he hopes his Ma can make it. That’s what he told them, even when Steve knew by then she probably wouldn’t be able to get there by the next day.

It’s still surreal though, this family that suddenly surrounds him and takes him out with them. But it’s good, clean fun and Steve carries around little Samantha like a lifeline, the seven year old on his hip as if she’s his own. He doesn’t have any plans, family has crossed his mind and been put away too often to really be considered due to his less than stellar reputation with boys and girls. But this he can do, he can play at it, and Steve takes the chance to do so.

David just glances at him at the end of the night, shakes his hand and says that when he gets his permanent change of station, if he needs someone there, they’ll come. That means more to Steve than anything and he spends a few days with them, using a little bit of money to reward himself properly with a gift to himself. Between his shoulder blades, in bright and vibrant colors despite being only the size of his palm, is a Captain America kite shield. And it’s all healed up by the time he gets onto a transport a few days later to see where the future takes him.

What he learns through 20 weeks of training to be a Human Intelligence Collector before getting assigned to Florida?

The Intelligence School at Fort Huachuca in Arizona is freakishly hot.


	3. Tour of Duty

_2007_

_Iraq - Position Redacted_

****

Steve really is not a fan of the desert, so he’s finding. After all that schooling, he’s been sent out to combat and he finds that he’s much better actually _in_ the situations than training for them.

He’s somehow found himself in the shoes of Staff Sergeant and Steve has a handful of privates with him this time around that trust he’ll get them out of this one. He’s been good for three years, a broken bone once and then when sent out, a few scars from stupid things done on leave or shrapnel. But he’s always carried himself well and put his nose to the grindstone. So somehow he got... here.

In a firefight.

With nine men ready to shoot back.

The Sergeant is resourceful though and he finds himself quick to take back the building that has been captured by insurgents on the edge of the town they’ve just come into. It had already been a long time getting this far, that something was taken back? Steve has his mind set on getting in and getting all his men back out again, possibly with a prisoner or two.

Lucky day, they get everyone out of the way and safe from the surrounding area before trying to take the building itself. Steve gives commands, they’re followed, one of his men is shot in the arm but it’s a through and through. So they keep searching the building while Daniel helps Jack tie up his wound so that sand doesn’t get into it. It’s not until he’s ready to give the all clear that he finds the last room, a man with a very big rifle coming at his head something he has to duck. The butt of the gun ricochets off the Sergeant’s helmet before Steve basically tackles the man to the ground and pins him down after a struggle.

Private shot: through and through.

Sergeant laceration to face: needs stitches.

“You okay, Jack?”

“Yes Sir. Just hurts like a son of a bitch.”

“Bet it does. Lets get out of here and get you into medical to check it out.”

“Yes Sir.”

All clear.

\------

Base is clean except for the sand he ends up letting in when he opens the door to his room, wind spiraling out in the hallway. But it’s orderly and neat and the Sergeant’s roommate isn’t there.

So Steve disassembles. Sort of.

The very first thing off is his helmet. His gun is quick to follow, off and stored properly. Steve doesn’t do much else though as he sits on his bed, enjoying the quiet in his ears after debriefing his commanding officer on his team’s latest assignment and signing a few forms that he’d asked for so that he had something to do when he was back home. Urban warfare, building by building, the town would no longer be a stop on a weapons supply route. Not that it was his job anymore, as of 2100, he was off active duty and had to pack to catch the next transport stateside. Twelve months up, his second tour of duty out here, and Steve was all too glad to be going home, though who was going to be there to meet him, he didn’t know quite yet.

He had a pretty good idea though because there was a letter in his pocket that he had yet to open in the hand of a little girl. Steve grabs it then, opening it with careful fingers, and finds a drawing from Samantha of her and her pet gerbil and did he know that her Daddy was home now too?

And she’s not his but Steve is her godfather, called ‘Uncle’ apparently because David is an ass and lets him find out these kind of things though letters instead of calling him or emailing. Steve never asked to be that but the man had told him he was. Or he’d let his _daughter_ tell the Sergeant he was so he couldn’t object. Crafty bastard.

Steve glanced through the rest of the letter, quickly going through what she’s learning in school, the nifty things that her teacher told her about the Constitution, and then about how fun it was to have her dad home. Honorably discharged because of burns down his right side. The Sergeant double blinks at the words, going back and rereading with a frown.

That’s spelled a little too neatly to be Sam’s handwriting so it must be Mrs. Shapiro’s, editing in what he needs to know before he comes home because David told him it had been no big deal. All down his right side though? That’s not exactly what Steve expected and he’s going to give the other man a very long talk about what is and is not a ‘big deal’ when he gets to him. After the hugging bit. And the carrying around Sam bit.

Folding up the letter to put it with the rest, he looked over all the ones he’d received this time around. The most are from Samantha and then a few from his mother, the odd one from David. Man was a good friend, really. Gave him something to look forward to when going back other than pie and listening to his mother quietly sigh after he said that no, he didn’t get out much on leave, he tended to stick to seeing her or friends.

Apparently, this was a sore lack of judgement on his part, something Steve would never know how to handle quite well enough to ease his mother’s worry that he wouldn’t be alone the rest of his life. Which had come up last time he was at home, now that he thinks about it, laying down with an arm over his eyes because he’s already all packed.

Ma with one too many glasses of wine in her was a force to be reckoned with. Or cling wrap, holding onto his arm and sobbing because he’d not found anyone yet. She really didn’t care at this point who it was, just that he find someone to share things with. Someone better than his father had been to her and Steve had spent the rest of the night with her under his arm, watching old movies and trying to even remember the man’s face.

He hadn’t been able to and when he’d left for another tour of duty, he’d hugged his Ma just a little bit tighter and handed her off to Mr. and Mrs. Shapiro, newly moved to New Jersey by that time to stay closer to the base their son was at to take care of his daughter.

Something in his twinged at the thoughts and the Sergeant rolled over onto his side to sleep. Transport left at 0400, he’d need it. But as he started to drift, the man knew it wasn’t because he didn’t want that for himself. Family, that was. He did. It was just that there was no one out there for him. Of that he was sure of. Positive, in fact, because there really could only be one person for him. Steve rolls back over onto his back and scrubs at his face. He really should get a handle on this. He’s not eighteen anymore. He’s twenty-one next week, for Heaven’s sake. He shouldn’t be in love with a dead man who he doesn’t know.

Admiration, awe, inspiration, excitement. These are all things that were okay to feel. Keeping a trading card in his duffel because it reminded him of why he was here was alright too, especially because it gave him hope that some things wouldn’t change in his life.

Affection, longing, desire were not.

They just weren’t.

The Captain wasn’t even around, he’d never know what color blue his eyes were or shake his hand for that matter, and Steve felt his chest clench at the thought, face blank as he stared at the darkened ceiling. He traces the patterns of the light there, wonders what shapes Phil saw when he was in the Army, decided that was a poor train of thought and rerouted to wondering if Sam would still be awake right now doing her homework. That was much safer. Family, friends. Not this thing that warmed him some nights when he couldn’t think of anything but sand and gunfire. And Steve keeps thinking like that, normal, bored, Captain, reroute, normal, normal, bored.

The Sergeant only fell asleep when his roommate came in from patrol, finally closing his eyes to at least pretend and ending up out cold after a long day awake.

\------

_Philadelphia International Airport_

_Philadelphia, Pennsylvania_

“Uncle Steven!”

Oh yeah, he was killing David just as soon as the little girl in his arms didn’t have a death grip on his neck.

The look he shoots his buddy is not nice but David is dying from laughter in his wheelchair, his mother shaking her head and his father rocking back on his heels as if pleased as punch. Steve just hoists Samantha up on his chest some more and smiles at her, complimenting her growing because she was a runt last time he saw her and oh boy, she’s going to be taller than him one day. All five-eleven of him, long in the leg, wide in the chest. Pretty slim in the hip.

Steve takes a moment to shake Mr. Shapiro’s hand and hug Mrs. Shapiro who looks like she’s trying not to cry before he slaps his hand into David’s and shakes. It’s a good way to come home and Steve grabs his duffel and backpack before they all head out. Him and David end up in the back of the tiny group, Samantha begging and pleading to stop by her favorite ice cream place on their way back because apparently, that was exactly what Uncle Steven needed right off the plane.

“Steven? Really?”

“What? Guy can’t have some fun?”

“You are not good for my mental health, Dave.”

“Pretty sure you’re not good for your mental health.”

“Can it.”

“Afraid I don’t have any tomatoes.”

“... What!?”

“Nevermind.”

Steve just shakes his head and smiles because it really is good to be home. And the more impressive bit is that the Sergeant finds himself with not only ice cream but also a full picnic, still in uniform and holding Samantha on his knee in a park near their house as he listens to her ramble on about Maggie the Gerbil and how hard science is and at least he can agree with her there before she runs off to play frisbee with a boy Steve doesn’t like the look of and makes ‘watching you’ motions at before turning to the adults of the group, one eye out for that kid over there in blue.

“Thank you for coming to pick me up,” he offers to Mr. and Mrs. Shapiro, grinning over at them. “It was a great welcome home.”

“Oh, you’re welcome son,” David’s father said, shaking his head. “Least we could do. We know how your mom works.”

“Richard, that’s none of our business,” Mrs. Shapiro spoke up, laying a hand over her husband’s before turning to Steve. “I’m so sorry. Your Mama’s work isn’t any of our business.”

“It’s okay Susanna,” Steve murmurs, holding up his hands. “She’s busy. Everyone knows it. I’m just happy to see you is all.”

“Well, it’s nice to see you too, Steven.” Ah, so that’s where Samantha had gotten it from. Well, guess he couldn’t blame David anymore. “You’re quite available now, are you? Given any thought to what you might be doing with all that free time?”

And she means well, Steve knows that. And he’s just grabbed another little tuna sandwich from the box they have so he can take a minute before he says anything as he chews. But he can feel David’s eyes on him like embers, burning where they touch, and Steve chances a look towards him that only has the other man pursing his lips as he answers.

“Well, Ma’am, I was thinking of seeing what my options were more stateside again. I just have to take some tests at the local recruitment offices first.”

Only David is having none of that and after a minute or two of chatting, he rolls backwards with an excuse that him and Steve will pack up the car. Only, as soon as Steve is sitting on the back end of it, David is growling at him.

“You’re not serious are you?”

“About what?”

“That was a dream man. We went through basic. You keep going back. Your Mom needs you here. You know that. You got the letter.”

“Look, Ma’s sick. But I can’t make her better from this by sticking around. I make more in the military than out of it. That’s how I make her better. Doctors.”

“But the special forces man? You won’t be able to get back if something happens. You’d be on tour.”

“I was on tour when she found out.”

“You should stay.”

“I can’t stay. This is what I’ve wanted since I was a kid, Dave.”

“To be a Green Beret?”

“To be more than just another guy in a line up.”

“He’s not real, Rogers.”

That pulls the Sergeant up short, blinking at David as if he’d grown a second head. Because they both know who he’s talking about and the Captain is a historical figure. He was very real. And Steve says as much, arms crossing loosely and defensively over his chest.

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?”

“... Are you really going to make me say this outloud here?”

“You’re going to have to because I don’t know what you’re getting at, Shapiro.”

There’s a heavy sigh from the other man, a Corporal in another life before he pulled a move that got him burnt to an extent he couldn’t use his leg anymore because of nerve endings. But he’d been Steve’s battle buddy in basic and the man is someone Steve tries to make proud out there. One of very few.

“Stevie... You’re never going to meet him. If you came home and worked stateside at your Mom’s diner or if you became freaking President of the United States, you’re not going to meet him. You’re not going to have a chance to say that you did all this because of him. _For_ him. I’m not... I’m not that bright, alright? And don’t give me that look, we both know that I’ve got no common sense in me but maybe a pinkie’s worth. But I see how you get when you talk about him, maybe because I’m the only one you did. You kept him close to your chest, Steve. Your heart. Don’t think I didn’t notice. He’s not... it isn’t real Steve. He’s gone, long gone, and you’re holding onto a hope here that is just going to end up making you miss things. Important things.”

“You mean like watching Ma pass?”

“Yeah. Something like that.”

Steve rubs at his jaw and takes a deep breath, staring down the street they’re on and slowly shaking his head. He didn’t know he’d been that obvious about it and wishes he could agree with his friend. Possibly his best friend. But he can’t. Not this time. Because Phil Coulson? He’s too important. Much too important to just give up on.

“He was never recovered...”

“Steve.”

“It’s a possibility that we have to consider. He’s a superhero.”

“Steve, no. Do you even hear yourself? Plane crashes aren’t just walked away from. Neither are little arctic plunges. I know we’ve got men and women in tights flying around New York but he would have come to light by now.”

“He gives me hope, Dave. What am I supposed to do? It’s been years.”

And David doesn’t have anything to say to that, not when Steve’s blue eyes are filled with something like despair and grief. He holds onto the Captain because he’s good. And steadfast. And true. And maybe, just a little bit, because he can’t change. Because when Pop left, he was still there in a worn out card. And when he went through basic, he was right there too in ink on a page. And then in Iraq, a picture in his duffel where most people had loved ones. And now? Now he was the one person that Steve knew couldn’t get hurt. Couldn’t get sick. Couldn’t leave. And he’s ready to fight David on this if he has to because it’s the one thing he has that he doesn’t ever want to give up.

“Uncle Steven?”

Both men’s heads whip around and Samantha stands on the other side of the car, twisting her fingers together and her ten year old frame hunched. Both immediately soften around the edges, the fight draining away at her discomfort.

“What’s up, baby girl?”

“Are you... are you upset?”

“Not... really. Debating things with your Dad, talking about serious stuff. Makes the face look upset sometimes. You know when Grandpa does it? Same thing, is all. What did you need? Time to go?”

“N-No. Not yet. I just. Would you push me on the swings?”

“... Yeah. Yeah I can do that. Come one. Want a piggyback ride over there?”

“YES!”

Steve throws the girl over his shoulder fireman style, much to her displease, and looks to the other man, who is watching him intently. The Sergeant’s smile dims a bit but he nods in understanding, knowing David is only looking out for him. And that seems to be enough, that he understands. At least for now, as Steve lets down Sam and has her climb onto his back before somewhat loping off to the swingset to play.

He’d stay, for today, with this family that isn’t his own. But he had someone to visit and stay with and look after somewhere up north and Steve knows that David isn’t finished with him. Not yet.

Miraculously, it’s still good to be home.

\------

“Ma?”

“Steve?”

There’s a patter of feet and then a petite woman in his chest, Steve dropping his duffle and immediately wrapping up his mother who has burst into tears. He slings his keys on the table and soothes over the apologies of not being able to pick him up with warm and quiet words in the dark apartment, closing the door behind him as she starts to cough. The Sergeant waits until she can breath again before leading her to the living room and grabbing up his things to deposit in his room. He’s twenty-one today and she has cherry, boysenberry pie for him with ice cream if he wants it. Red, white, and blue and Steve loves his mother for always remembering that there’s a man in his life that really did change it.

As he looks her over though, Steve comes to some conclusions. One is that her eyes are hurting her, the drapes are drawn down tight and she keeps squinting at him. It would help if she wore her glasses. Another is that she’s thinner than normal, which is never really good because Steve sends her most of his checks. Finally, that she keep coughing and Steve reaches out to take her hand when he hears the wheeze in the room.

Chronic obstructive pulmonary disease is what the doctor’s had told her. Most likely caused by her smoking when she was younger, along with the second hand from her own father. It seems it makes it harder for her to talk though, constantly catching her breath.

“Ma...” Steve starts, not knowing it had gotten that bad. “How are you feeling?”

“Hmm? Oh. Old, Steve. Just... old.”

“Anything I can do?”

“I. I don’t think so.”

“You’ve been to see the doctor again, right?”

“Of course I have. Don’t fuss, it’s... not attractive.”

“Ma...”

“Steven Grant Rogers I am fine. Now tell me... what you can about your tour.”

And while Steve isn’t so sure that she is fine, Sarah Rogers was not one to mess with when she used his full name. So the Sergeant tells her what he can that won’t make her worry, tells her about the privates that he sometimes looked at and wanted to make go sit in timeout or his superiors that had given him a pat on the back here or there. It’s nothing too exciting and her questions are few and far between, but they do end up eating pie and watching movies by the end of the night before Steve bites into his lip and clears his throat, trying to catch her attention.

“Ma... If I wanted to go back...”

“You would have to think long and... hard on it to figure it out.”

“And if I knew already?”

His mother sits up from where she'd leaned against him and Steve keeps eye contact, blue on blue. She’s studying him, looking for something, and the Sergeant never knows what she sees or what she finds. He’s a bit scared to know and she never brings it up, just nods to herself and blinks at him.

“Well?”

“I’m signed up to go into the three week Special Forces training course to see if I can become a Green Beret, Ma.”

“They’d hang your picture in the diner, you know.”

“I know.”

“I’m very proud already.”

“I know that too.”

“Just so long as you know.”

And that was that in the Rogers’ household, the movie coming back on from the commercial and Steve eventually putting his mother to bed before laying down in his old bedroom and staring at a card that he’d had far too long.

Yeah. That was that.

\------

He stays in Brooklyn for a week before driving down to Fort Bragg North Carolina and testing. Thirty days go by of training before he even takes the assessment but Steve feels he’s good to go. It’s hard, brutally so, but he takes it a day at a time. He’s doing this for himself, for his Ma, for David. For the Captain.

He has to pass.

The next twenty-four days are mentally and physically exhausting. He doesn’t find anyone here like David to batter down the hatches with and stand back to back with. Steve does, however, create bonds with strangers that are quiet and secure. Strong and unbreakable in a way that he isn’t used to. But this is all about survival and just like in basic, the Sergeant puts his head down and gets to work. He pushes and pulls and fights with everything he has like he always does. He learns how to better ignore his limits, he learns that they aren’t limits at all.

Harder, faster, better, stronger.

Steve finds he’s not the best at land navigation but he’s good with it. That’s like basic, he’s not the best but he’s a hard worker and makes good. But he’s great with his weapon and a small unit. Things to know and remember, if he can remember with how little sleep he’s getting.

His skills as a common soldier and then specializing in intelligence are all tested over again, Steve getting more and more confident in what he does with every passing day. He’s 21, he’s got a good base knowledge, and he’s been doing this for a handful of years now. It’s good, he’s good, and he pushes himself further. Ends up in medical a few times but he’s passing.

Languages are interesting and Steve is glad he can remember most of the German he learned and picked up in high school. So one language down. Another right around the corner and he finds Russian easier than Arabic, though he finds himself with phrases of a lot of things here and there.

Survival, evasion, resistance, escape.

And in the end, he wants to fall down. He really, really does. But the 10th Special Forces Group is looking for a Communications Sergeant and Steve is the one they get, right after he takes the time to tattoo ‘De Oppresso Liber’ under his right collarbone.

The best news to come from all of it, at least for Steve? Sarah Rogers got to see her son made a Green Beret before dying two weeks later with his hand in hers.

But she was _there_ and Steve. Well, Steve was grateful. He closed her eyes in the hospital before stepping back and returning to his company’s headquarters in Colorado. A new tattoo circles his arm in black, right under his left elbow now sits an interlocking Irish knot to remember his family by and a vintage trading card in his hand on the flight that his mother had gotten for him as a gift for all his hard work to remember where he could go.


	4. Man In Black

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “But only if I agree,” Steve states dryly, brain working over the facts before he looked between the two agents. 
> 
> “So... when do we start?”

_2010_

_Afghanistan - Position Redacted_

****

His life seems to be divided into segments. Childhood, high school, basic. Tours of duty, training, Green Beret.

He’s been shipped out a year later with his unit after being inducted into the Special Forces where he stood now, forearm on the butt of his gun as blonde hair sat low on his forehead. It’s tinged darker with sweat and he’s First Sergeant now, but that really doesn’t help him as he’s hiding behind a small outcropping of rocks, wiping the sweat from his brow before shoving his helmet back on as Cam tracks the camp their watching for their chance to move.

They’ve been cut off from their unit, Communications having been targeted specifically and Steve is at least glad he’s not alone. Cam is making obscene hand gestures in the sand and the Sergeant huffs out a breath, shaking his head in amusement as his sunglasses go back over his eyes. This wasn’t good, it really wasn’t good. They had been using the camp as an information hub, letting supplies flow through and using it as a way to find where things were going. Where they were coming from. Picking off those outer rings instead of letting goods just pass into the wrong hands. It seemed that whoever these guys were, they had not liked being used in such a manner.

Maybe they had wanted dinner first.

Steve hunkers down a bit more, his camo keeping him protected as he flips over and motions Cam to give him the binoculars so that he can take over for a bit. It’s not exactly the most ideal of situations but they’d been through other incidents where it was just a bit on the worse side. Booking it back to base shouldn’t be all that hard, right? Especially when their Commanding Officer knew about the area and was waiting with cover fire for the right moment.

“Man, I could go for a burger right now.”

“Shut up Cam.”

“What? I could.”

“Yeah well, we have MREs back at basecamp so you just pretend that’s a burger and we’ll see how that goes for you.”

“You’re dead inside man if you cannot appreciate a good burger with me.”

“I would if I had one, bucko. But I don’t.”

“You’re no fun.”

“You know, you’re not the first person to tell me that.”

“You should respect me more.”

“I’m ranked higher than you.”

“... Oh. Right.”

Blue eyes blink back from where he’s looking at the camp, sliding to Cam’s profile to see him checking their sixes. He was a good guy, standing at twenty-two to Steve’s twenty-four. Good looking too and the Sergeant killed that thought as soon as it happened. Out like a light and he rolled his shoulder, going back to the task at hand. They stay like that for a few minutes, quiet and secure, until something chimes in their ears.

“Rogers? Huff?”

“Read you loud and clear, Sir,” Steve offered quietly, eyes not wavering but brow furrowing. There was a commotion in the camp. “You seeing this?”

“I am. From your position you didn’t see the new arrival. We’ve got a prisoner boys and orders came in for extraction, though our position hasn’t been compromised yet to anyone else.”

“Oh goody,” Cam mumbled before taking a breath. “Any info on the captured, Sir?”

“Negative. Just that they are a special case and to be sent stateside ASAP.”

“Roger that, Sir.”

“Check your intel, Rogers. I have the Air Force breathing down my neck.”

“... Really?” There was a moment where Steve considered what that meant. “Yes Sir.”

“Stay for my orders you two.”

“Yes Sir. Rogers and Huff out.”

There’s a beat and in the pause, Steve can feel it coming. The comment from the man next to him and his face blanks out more if that’s possible, waiting for it.

“Ever get tired of Roger that, Rogers?”

“Cute.”

“Wrong. I’m adorable.”

“You watch too much Tv, Huff.”

“How did you even know it was from Tv then?”

“You talk about it all the time, ass.”

It’s going to be a long stakeout and Steve gets back to looking forward while Cam is looking back. If there’s one thing the Intelligent Sergeant was good with, it was lightening the mood. And watching the unit’s back. Cam was just that kind of guy and Steve was ever so grateful for him, pulling something from his pocket and flipping it open to reveal a small screen that he fiddled with a bit until the information about the detainee they were looking for came through.

“I always forget you have that.”

“Yeah well, Stark tech has its advantages.”

“He doesn’t do contracts for tech with us anymore. I thought it was just weapons.”

“No, at least that’s what I heard too. But that doesn’t mean we can’t acquire the rights to some things or buy them without contracts to make them. They’re on the market. They’re available. We got a couple. I know you have more tech than I do, oh grasshopper.”

“Bite me, Stevie boy.”

“With relish, thanks.”

Nothing even changes his tone anymore and Steve flips through the information quickly, scanning and reading and absorbing before handing it off to Cam to do the same before the thin but handy device is back in his palm and secured away in his utility belt once more. About twenty minutes later, he trades Cam his own chocolate energy bar for the other’s peanut butter one. It’s a better deal, the peanut butter doesn’t taste nearly like crap and really, it doesn’t melt as badly when they’re out in the heat like they are.

Waiting.

Watching.

Placing bets of MREs on if that’s who they think it is down there or not.

Watching.

Waiting.

****

\------

****

They move early a few mornings later, not in broad daylight but they see an opening in changing guard shifts on the camp that was suddenly locked down tighter than cling wrap on itself. They’re silent and approaching from two different directions. They have the advantage of surprise and the team is light on their feet. There’s eight of them all together, though six are on the field right now while two watch and coordinate them all.

It should be a quick infiltration. Grab and go. Nothing, however, seems to work like that anymore. Nothing is quite so simple anyways, so Steve wonders why anyone thinks fighting and war will be. Steps are quiet and sure, his gun is loaded and up. He’s picture perfect, someone once told him when he was going through a training course. The Sergeant doesn’t know what that means but he does know that there are no cameras here. There are, however, weapons and rockets and things that are going to be aimed on civilians if they don’t get them out of there. Which is why they were called in the first place. It wasn’t like the military was unaware of the camp. Just that they had meant to intercept the delivery after it had gone through there.

And then a detainee happened. And then they realized just how big a problem that was because Tony Stark was a genius and they needed to get him out when they hacked the security cameras.

It’s not pretty in the cave and the doctor the genius is with seems to helping him. Mr. Stark doesn’t belong out here though and they’re tasked with getting him back. So they sneak through the stalls, all nicely arranged and open but enough to crouch behind, and go to enter the cave. Which seems to have turned into a personal hell or a smithy. Or both, really, because Steve was on watch when the genius started building... _something_ in that pit.

He was also on watch when they’d opened him up, helping Cam hack in with minimal support and almost lost that peanut butter bar when he’d seen the surgery. What had worried him more was that Cam hadn’t even made a joke about it. Inappropriate timing or not, the man always had something to say.

But he stays on watch until he’s relieved and can catch a quick two hour nap before going to the tent set up for communications and sitting on a stool to try and reason with an Air Force officer that they have it under control. They don’t want to get the man killed instantly, they can’t move yet, and no they can’t give them their position. Yes he can talk to his Commanding officer, here is Jim for him, good luck. Steve had to contact units close by to inform them of possible firefights and to be wary or on the lookout for transport vehicles anyways.

Steve swears often but what comes out of his mouth when something that looks like a robot comes from the cave their trying to get to is all filth as he takes cover. They’re suddenly very much under fire and their Commanding Officer calls a fall back, because they have no idea if it’s friend or foe. They spring forward after a bit of a shootout, the silver robot taken to the sky (and really, they were dealing with robots now? why is he not surprised) and they get into the cave.

“Cover the entrance, we’re heading into the back. Rogers, you’re with me and Mike. Close corners, we might need your hand to hand.”

“Yes Sir.”

It’s dark and dank and still smells like sweat and blood. That Steve can identify it as blood is much more worrisome and he is second with Mike the Medic at his back and his Commanding Officer before him calling the shots. All are prepared for anything but when they check a man for a pulse and find none, when they step over a few bodies that don’t even twitch, not one of them is expecting the hand that shoots out with a serrated blade that embeds and tears through Steve’s inner left knee.

There’s a grunt of pain and a kick that sounds with a sickening crunch through the tunnel and then all Steve can think is ow, ow, **_ow_**.

God. Damn. It.

Mike is quick to check him, the team being told “Rogers’ down” over the comms and Steve uses his position leaning against the wall to take out a guy coming around the corner with kick out of his weapon before stabilizing it against his own shoulder and taking the shot. Mike sighs and shakes his head, calling out orders to Jimmy that they need to get him out of there. Now.

Steve dislikes leaving combat when he doesn’t have to, he always feels like he’s leaving good men behind. First one in, last one out of his company. But he pushes up and leans into Mike. He limps out of the cave and gets back to camp where at least there are more supplies.

But there’s been something cut and his knee feels... wobbly. And the way Mike is moving it around like that even makes Jim pull a face after they call in cleanup and an aircraft.

“We’re getting you out of here.”

“Sir...”

“Don’t, Rogers. You need surgery. Go get it and come back.”

“Sir yes Sir.”

That he gets his hair ruffled after a smack to the back of the head on the way out is more akin to a ‘good boy’ for a dog but Steve will take it as he was loaded up into a helicopter by a man with an eyepatch and taken to a nearby base with facilities that can be used to fix his knee.

****

\------

****

_Albany, New York_

_Albany Veteran’s Administration Medical Center_

****

Yinsen is the doctor’s name from the cave.

Steve finds that out nine days later while he’s flipping through Cam’s report in the hospital stateside.

Looks like the Intelligence and Operations Sergeant shifted through what documents he could find and the team made sure the body gets home, all of them clearing out the place after Steve was taken away for his injury. Seemed they were rather angry about it all, if the email he woke up to was anything to go by, Mike not happy that they wouldn’t let him go to be the one to do the surgery in the first place. Not that Steve minds, he sends one back saying that the Medic is needed with the team and that means he stays. Besides, they had a good doctor here and he should regain movement in his knee after a few months of physical therapy. Not so bad right?

But he has a lot of down time. And that means he reads the whole report five times because they’re still getting his duffel for him that has his book in it. The workshop the team took apart, documenting what they could beforehand. They quickly overran the place and what was left of the missiles, bagging them up, tracking down who was supposed to own the weapons, pulling out and back because apparently Tony Stark saved himself.

All well and good but it makes Steve’s shoulders tight where he’s laying in a hospital bed because the man goes on Tv and says he’s a superhero.

And Steve thinks the suit is great, really, he does. And the world needs heroes. But he’s read about Howard Stark. And he’s seen the party pictures and heard the interviews and seen the paparazzi snapshots of the many, many glasses with amber liquid in his hands. And Steve’s thoughts turn to Samantha, who has a Captain America pin but is still very impressionable at her age. Okay, especially at her age because she’s just turned into a teenager and did he really miss her thirteenth birthday?

That thought has the Sergeant leaning back and closing his eyes, not even opening them when the door opens and closes with a squeak of wheels.

Oh good. Lunch.

“You know soldier, there’s not many that carry this book around with them.”

Blue eyes flash open and his entire body tenses, Steve prepared to fight because that is most definitely not his nurse’s voice and when his gaze lands, that is most definitely not a petite brunette that stays almost silent when she checks his vitals and IV.

No, instead it’s a man in what looks to be black wool and leather, shoulder holster on full display. And Steve has to wonder how the man isn’t hot, scowling at him from the end of the bed with his duffel in one hand and his Captain America autobiography in the other, the latter getting tossed into his arms. Steve’s motor skills are still somewhat slow but they’re active enough to catch the well worn book, though he doesn’t move it from where he holds onto it over his chest.

“.... Sir?”

“What do you know about heroes, son?”

That gives the man Steve’s full attention. Director Nick Fury of... oh boy, that’s a mouthful. Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division. The Green Beret blinks at him and just nods because there is no way he is remembering that. Surely not. He has a card and the nurse doesn’t bat an eye when she does come in so Steve starts to talk.

And talk.

And talk.

It’s not all about the Captain, though most of it centers around him because Fury asks leading questions and Steve tries his hardest not to sound like he’s in love with the man that is long gone and forgotten. Well, he can’t be too sure it’s love, he’s twenty-four and never had a proper love life. But he’s come to appreciate the man greatly, which he does in fact tell the Director. Because drugs are funny things and make him a bit wide eyed and loose lipped about his favorite subject when he’s kept it close to his chest all these years.

But Fury takes an interest in it and Steve is glad to share his ideas on what makes a hero, what constitutes courage, why they’re important and for what reasons they are needed still. And then the Director just watches him for a bit, Steve not quite sure what that means but they sit silently because Fury’s not asking questions and the Green Beret isn’t speaking out of turn.

“How much are you willing to invest in making these heroes, Sergeant Rogers?”

Steve raises his gaze from the book in his hand, unconsciously rubbing his thumb down the spine of it because it’s been there through a good portion of his life. At the very least, all through his military career. Some carried a Bible. Some photos of family. And Steve did have a picture taped in the back of David’s family and his Ma. But he carried around the book to remind himself of what it was to do better, be better, and be great. To have a heart so big that it could work the serum, unknown as it was. And to prove everyone wrong that the little guy couldn’t make a big difference.

“I’ve already invested everything Sir,” Steve offers, gaze not leaving Fury’s own. “I do the best I can to teach by example, to lead and help where I can. To make heroes, they need support. They need a base to plant their feet on and jump from. I work to be that for anyone, not just heroes. But if you’re asking me to be that for them, well, I’ve already given everything. I’ll just be putting it to a slightly different use.”

He seems to have given the right answer because the Director smiles and tells him to heal up. He tells him that physical therapy won’t be so bad with the new ligament that he was walking around with in his knee. And that he would make a fine leader one day.

And then Fury leaves.

Oh... So maybe he didn’t give the right answer after all.

****

\------

****

Physical therapy leaves him in more pain than he remembers the actual wound being. And the doctor does not like how he kicks out at him one day because he makes a comment about Green Berets and pain tolerance. Steve had snarled and reacted, purposefully missing sending the other flying with a very nice boot in his chest. And he wouldn’t have felt bad at all, because the doc was a loudmouth and had a stubborn attitude that sent Steve bristling. Not many things got under his skin but arrogance and anyone trying to charm their way through something instead of work tended to set his teeth off kilter in a grind.

Just because they knew how to handle it didn’t mean they didn’t feel it and Steve wears the metal brace, bites down on his tongue so hard it swells when something decides to try to rearrange on him one session, and works to get back to his team.

Only, there’s an eerie deja vu that has him thinking back to Basic Training. To really any of his training. There are pinpoints on him that continue to move when he was in his PT sessions, as if watching to see how he handled things. As if the doctor in front of him was testing him. There was more than once Steve swore up and down to himself that someone was just the other side of the window to the gym door, but if anything it was just a flicker of black from the corner of his eye. Maybe... maybe it was that Fury guy. He wore all black and Steve couldn’t think of anyone else that wore the color here in the hospital. It was all neutral colors and pastels, colors he wouldn’t wear unless someone counted the light pink shirt with flowers on it that was in benefit of Samantha’s volleyball team. It had her nickname across the back, Samwise, and a ‘For Frodo’ across the front. She’d cajoled him into buying it and who was he to argue with the girl, really?

That one didn’t count. Steve was pretty sure of it and he was bent over his knee to buckle the brace around it when boots came into his line of vision.

Military grade but specialty made.

Blue eyes sweep up and Steve knows that’s not standard grade material and he’s gets to the hip and holster of the woman before he realizes what that looks like. He cringes and she just raises a brow at him before he goes back to his brace and stands haltingly to greet her. There’s a dip of his head as he stands there, figuring she came to find him, she’d know more about what she wanted then he would.

“Something I can do for you Ma’am?”

“Agent Hill of the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division. I’d like to talk to you about an offer.”

“An offer?”

“Walk with me, Sergeant. There’s a bit more you have to know.”

She’s strict. And proper. And she’s military and knows what she’s doing. Steve can tell right away that he likes her. Maria Hill doesn’t seem one to beat around the bush or take anything sitting down. She also doesn’t mince words or hide the fact that this program they’re trying to put together... it’s not regulated like other teams would be. It’s much more free form and really, they’d have no control over them if the Initiative worked. Maybe the world did need heroes but if they could surround them with order, with a dedication and a training that came with what they’d all gone through here in the military, then maybe it could work.

Or that was what Steve gathered from talking with the woman. Who, very kindly he thought, didn’t shorten her strides or treat him any differently before he was out of uniform and had a brace on himself.

Though she might have walked just a breath slower and Steve was thankful for that too.

“So what do you want me for, Deputy Director?”

“You, Fury seems to think, are a man who knows how to handle superheroes. I assume you’ve seen the news?”

“Yes Ma’am.”

“Good, he’s your first.”

“Stark?”

“Stark.”

Oh dear God. Steve nodded in understanding before he furrowed his brow where they had stopped. Turning to her, Steve rubbed at the back of his neck idly as he thought.

“My team?”

“Will have another transferred in.”

“If it’s your team you’re worried about,” came a voice from behind him and Steve turned to find Director Fury watching. Well, eyeing really. Was it still eyeing if one only had one eye? Right. Focus. He needed to... focus. “They will be provided with a few extras if you agree.”

“But only if I agree,” Steve states dryly, brain working over the facts before he looked between the two agents.

****

“So... when do we start?”


	5. On the way to Thor's hammer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And it feels like another test, this big guy with a hammer and the small group behind him that almost go down in a blaze of glory. But Steve ignores that for getting the job done.

A few weeks later sees Steve finishing up his physical therapy.

A few days after that, he meets a man named Sitwell and decides he can live with him being the one to give orders on how things are handled around SHIELD. And then the agent throws him into training. Again.  

This time, it’s a little different though.

There’s a handbook that Steve basically memorises, forms galore that he takes his time to read the first time through so he knows what they are the second and twentieth time through, and then meeting a few people he deems the ‘higher ups’ that give him the stink eye and he doesn’t back down from. At least, not gaze wise. He’s never been real good with people trying to intimidate him and these agents are just another type of head honchos that are too big for their breeches. Well... some of them. Sitwell’s alright, if a stickler for the rules, and the Sergeant goes to him when he really does have a question or not understand something. No shame in getting help when it’s there to be used, after all, and Steve slowly makes progress.

If, by progress, it’s implied that he now has his own little cubicle with a few other junior agents in a well air conditioned room in the communications department after weeks of training. It’s like he’s in school again, with a report card to boot.

Armed combat: Passed

Hand to hand: Exceeded expectations

Logistics and tactical support: Exceeded expectations

Ability to work under stress: Passed

Psychological profile: Passed, slight delusions of grandeur

Ability to lead: Passed

All are written in his file with a steady hand, Sitwell cool and calm even in his cursive. Severe as well, by the stroke of it, and Steve breathes out and knows he’s made the right choice. Besides, he’s got an email from one of his (old) teammates saying that they’ve got tech coming out of their ears now and what did he sign in blood to get that to happen?

Steve doesn’t answer. He’s not quite sure they’re wrong when he finishes training to not break under interrogation and spends a few days in the barracks rehydrating, nursing a broken hand.

“You did well Rogers. Clearance level three seems to be a good place to start you.”

“Thank you Sir.”

And that’s that.

\------

After the transition period is over, he meets a mechanic. Nothing special, a routine check to make sure that everything is functioning in one of the carriers that someone had said didn’t. Steve can’t find anything wrong with it and the man in the hangar bay with the scowl tells him as much too.

“She’s got nothin’ wrong with her.”

“I believe you, Mr...?”

“Quartermain. Mechanic and don’t you forget it.”

He doesn’t forget it and Steve gets more than he bargained for when he goes to ask for a wrench because the heater in his office is making a noise that winter. Clay says Steve looks like shit and puts his nose in a beer. If that’s not friendship, Steve doesn’t know what is and he spends more time in the hangar than getting coffee on breaks. It’s been a few scarce months since he’s begun but the Sergeant feels better already in this place he now calls work. The suit and tie are still odd, he wears the tie a bit too loose still, but he tries hard and a small pin on his lapel of a kite shield and small star cufflinks in blue just motivate him to put the damn jacket on every morning.

But he can’t live in the barracks forever, especially now that he’s passed out of junior status and into agent. Still low on the totem pole but an agent nonetheless. No longer in training.

So there’s an apartment and someplace to put down roots. Not that he has roots but hey, he’s not that far from where he grew up and it’s way better housing than a bunk bed. Two bedrooms and a study that he immediately claims for all his Captain America things? Open concept? Hell yes and David stops by with Samantha who sits on his counter and chatters on about being thirteen as he moves boxes.

“And Connie said Hayden said Kim liked Paul, but you know I can’t trust just _anyone_ in the school. So I went to Kim herself, and asked her and lo and behold, she does. I hate chains. It’s like someones third uncle twice removed was royalty or something and it’s just not worth it.”

“Sounds like you’ve got this high school thing all figured out, sweetheart.”

“You know it, Uncle Steven. Hey, hey.” Sam swung her foot out and tapped at him. “If you’re here, does that mean we’re going to get to see you more often? I made it onto my school’s volleyball team. Way better than the pink shirts. They’re white and blue. I know you’ve got a ton of stuff to go with that. And my school mascot? An eagle. So, you know, you totally have to come. Or if you can’t make it to my games, maybe come to the plays? Opposite schedule. I’m gonna be an actress. Just you watch.”

“You sure you want your old, cranky uncle there baby girl?”

“Oh _come on_ , Uncle Steven. I’m gonna win all the friends if you showed up after work in your suit. Even if you wore the spangled tie.”

“Leave him alone, Sammy,” David said, rolling into the kitchen as Steve shuffled things into drawers around the girl sitting next to his stove. “He’s got enough on his plate than having to drive down to Pennsylvania every time you’ve got a game or show.”

“But **_Dad_**...”

Steve stopped and watched the father-daughter duo in the kitchen arguing. His kitchen. Not his Mama’s kitchen but his. Something loosed in his chest and he leaned his hip onto the counter, arms crossing as he half listened and just thought for a bit. This was home now. No more packing up every few months and going over seas. No more trying to find a comfortable position to sleep in on a bunk. No more fatigues, though he still carried a gun on his hip. This was him staying and the man almost walked out right there, hopped on his bike, and drove away.

He didn’t but it was a thought. He just wasn’t used to staying. Wasn’t used to coming back day after day to the quiet and the empty spaces. The Sergeant hadn’t been running when he’d left for tours of duty. But he had found something out there he didn’t have here.

Companionship.

Which is why, when Samantha and David leave, the last few boxes shuffled out of the way to be unpacked later, Steve only sits for a minute. Or two. Maybe not even that long. It’s the weekend, one he has off before he has to go in for a meeting on a project called ‘the Avengers’ on Monday.

But now what?

He goes by a Brooklyn diner for dinner.

The smell of pie in the air makes him blink and Steve doesn’t expect Kat to come out of nowhere, flinging herself into his arms with a scream because his picture is on the wall here and she hasn’t seen him since middle school. He sits across from her, eats too many pancakes to be healthy, and listens more than talks. And he goes back, time and again after that, when he gets a free moment after work. Because it’s better than an empty apartment that’s too filled full of _things_ and not enough _heart_. He’s closed the door on his collection because he can’t focus on the Captain when he’s doing just as much good as he can, staying on the ball at all times. He can’t do that, not anymore. It’s no longer hero worship, that he knows. It’s more than that, more than anything else. But he can’t have it. Can’t focus on it. Not now. Not here. Not in SHIELD.

Not that Phil Coulson isn’t there. Oh, he’s there alright. He’s just a ghost though and Steve wonders if this is what a heart shattering feels like. Realizing that the world is gathering other heroes and forgetting the older ones, the _important_ ones if someone asked him. The ones that could see them through anything.

But Steve is slowly coming to the understanding that his job is paperwork and looking at the details of communications for SHIELD. It’s working through problems in getting information from agent to agent, on the field and off. It’s not supporting heroes, not really. Not yet. It’s a job that he can have time off from and go home from at night, to this ghost that won’t help his psych profile at all. He’s just a grunt for SHIELD right now and he stays in the office most the time despite having someplace else to go. Maybe that’s why when he gets off early one day because he ends up with a cold, he goes to where he knows they have soup.

It’s been so long since he’s done something outside of the military that he stutters to a start. But Kat seems okay with that everytime he comes in, eventually pulling out a book of the Captain after inviting Steve back for Sunday dinner when she realizes that the reason he’s coming in is because he has nowhere else to go.

She’s married, happily, and the book will one day grace the eyes and hands of a youngster. Hopefully. And he keeps going back, he keeps working hard, he makes a new routine and sticks to it. Harder than most, easier than some, he’s on the right track and maybe he’s making someone proud. He doesn’t stop believing in heroes. Steve just tucks one away for a more appropriate front.

\------

The next month finds him in a gala for Tony Stark to talk about the Initiative. And it doesn’t go as well as expected.

“That’s a mouth full.”

“We’re working on it. Some have suggested SHIELD.”

“Snazzy.”

“Not really. Just more descriptive and shorter.”

“You always like this?”

“Like what, Mr. Stark?”

“In need of a drink for that stick. Here. Have this.”

And then the inventor is gone and Steve purses his lips at the cold drink in his palm. He’s blown off for most of the night and the agent is half tempted to down the glass that has been thrust into his hand. Steve ends up puffing up a bit at the end of the evening, tired and only human, and Stark starts paying attention to the suddenly imposing young man. Steve isn’t tiny by any means, though he’s not quite as tall as all that. Still, it seems to work and Mr. Stark ends up keeping the business card. And that’s really something he can go back and tell Sitwell, who thought it would be a bust.

It takes another few months of working out logistic problems in SHIELD’s intelligence network before Steve finds himself back in the man’s workshop with a woman named Natalie who isn’t actually Natalie.

She’s one woman he wouldn’t want to cross, but he doesn’t know much more about her. Her file is above his clearance level but Steve does shake her hand, which seems to ping her brow up in interest. That has the agent pausing. Oh. Uh oh. Steve’s not quite sure if she’s the woman he wants the interest _of_...

Natalie has been brought in special for this assignment though, her interrogation skills unmatched and infiltration just as high up there. The agent works with her, gets her the information she’s looking for when she asks for it, and makes sure everything is there for her in a timely manner. Before she needs it, if he can wing it. Steve doesn’t realize his own job has been delegated to others until he bumps into a co-worker on his way to a meeting with Natasha (and that he knows that name means a world of difference, he can tell). The other agent has files he should be working on but isn’t, because his time is being spent on handling a mission to gather information on individuals that could be heroes. And his ideas and reports are the standard for such things, it would seem, after he goes to Sitwell to make sure he’s not been taken off of anything. Seems he’s only been put _onto_ something.  

To add to that, Natasha comes back around at times if she sees him when at SHIELD and Steve creates something like a bond of loyalty. Maybe. It’s so hard to tell with her when she smacked him upside the head for not eating all day. Not that he could tell it was her, she wasn’t in a position to, but she’d been the only one in his office.

Of course, he ends up handing over all files on Tony Stark to Fury, Black Widow’s final reports going to the Director, himself, because Steve is off to New Mexico with Sitwell. Lord help his soul.

“Here. This is your new assignment.”

“Sir, this isn’t quite an assignment.”

“That man has the eyes of a hawk. We need him on our side and our team. He’s been recruited by a kind hearted older gentleman that retired earlier this year before you came in and Hawkeye has been bounced around to handler to handler since then because he’s a pain in the ass.”

“I thought we were going to New Mexico to investigate falling space debris of alien nature? I’m no handler, Sitwell. I do communications of a different sort.”

“Are you arguing, Rogers?”

“... No Sir.”

“Good. Welcome to Level 5 and handler status. You’ll have to fill out the paperwork when you get back to headquarters if all goes well here. Think of it as a test run. You’re to handle the archer. I’ll handle the alien technology.”

\------

Clint Barton does not want to listen. Nor does he want to work with the agents who appear out of thin air and make no progress towards actually being of use with that hammer in the middle of the desert. But when an unknown man shows up in their facility, and Steve takes over the comms because that’s what he’s used to doing to relay information before signing off again, there’s one phrase that seems to stall the archer in his tracks.

“Barton. Talk to me.”

And so he does. Steve takes what he’s saying and starts to create plans, not even realizing that he’s doing so, putting them into action based on what Barton is telling him. There’s input from both sides, the quips from the other end of the comms making a few of the agents working around him roll their eyes and scowl, not least of all Sitwell if someone wanted to call his bland expression a look of disapproving. But Steve just blinks when it happens, not bothered in the slightest, and keeps going. Keeps leading Barton with questions, asking him instead of telling. Working with him instead of pulling strings to try and get him to do something. Listens to him and pulls the shots because Hawkeye is rooting for this man who is soon put into interrogation with Sitwell while Steve gets to shake Clint’s hand and ask him questions about his bow, much to the archer’s glee.

And it feels like another test, this big guy with a hammer and the small group behind him that almost go down in a blaze of glory. But Steve ignores that for getting the job done.

“Steven, greetings. You were the one that advised for my release.”

“Yes. Though I’m guessing you haven’t been entirely truthful with us.”

“Aye. But I must return to Asgard to right the wrongs that have put your planet in peril.”

“Asgard? … You know what, nevermind. We’ll clean up here and keep these people safe. You close up whatever let that big guy through, alright?”

“Verily.”

Thor does, too, and eventually Steve finds himself landed back at SHIELD headquarters with Barton and what’s left of the Destroyer in toe, because something’s gone very right and they even had pie on the plane from the diner that was almost destroyed. They find Natasha and Fury of all people in his office though, and paperwork to tie him to the special agents personally. No more field work, not really, at least not like he has been doing. And a title shift, along with higher clearance. Enough so that he somehow will get to monitor the location of all potential heroes and super human threats. Hulk watch on the very top of them after his little stint in Harlem the other week.

Well... okay then. He can handle that and then he’s interrupted, almost swallowing his tongue when he realizes it’s Natasha who has cut him off.

“I told you, I’d stay if I could choose who I worked with.”

“Hey! If she gets to choose, so do I.”

“So you two are in agreement?”

“Hell yeah.”

“What Clint means is yes, we are. For once.”

It seems they could _all_ handle that and Steve blinks at Clint and Natasha, rubbing at the back of his neck as they argue on their way out the door.

Natasha throws a nod his way as she slips silently out, the only mark of her a drifting voice behind that is accusing Barton of something or another. And then Clint hollers about Chinese next week, and if the agent concentrates he can tell when the archer steps into the elevator because his voice gets cut off from down the hall, to which Steve’s thoughts turn to getting a better mini fridge if that’s really what’s going to happen. Not that he’ll have it in here, he’s getting an actual office instead of sharing with one of the other guys, who has been ushered out by Natasha and Fury’s mere entrance apparently. His office mate doesn’t return and the agent can only lean back in his desk chair, a bit struck by it all, Fury having gone long before his team had. His team. Now that was something, wasn’t it? His team and his little project.

He didn't expect any of this. He doesn’t know what drew SHIELD’s attention to him or why he’s there. But there he was and Steve makes the best of it.

Sometimes, it seems, it’s good to stay in one place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit shorter chapter but a necessary one, I feel. One by one, they all stack up. We're missing an Avenger BUT hopefully they are worth the wait.


	6. Smoldering Airplane Wings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Are you positive about this Rogers? Because we have one shot before we get pulled.” 
> 
> “I’ve checked the calculations in every state of coherency I have, Sir. This is where the plane went down and if we don’t move, the ice table is going to shift and whatever information we can gain about the Tesseract from the plane will be long gone for us.”

_January 2012_

_The Arctic - Coordinates undisclosed_

 

“Are you positive about this Rogers? Because we have one shot before we get pulled.”

“I’ve checked the calculations in every state of coherency I have, _Sir_. This is where the plane went down and if we don’t move, the ice table is going to shift and whatever information we can gain about the Tesseract from the plane will be long gone for us.”

“Then you best put on that fuzzy coat of yours and get your ass out there, soldier.”

“.... Aye, aye, Director.”

He only gets a one eyed glare before he’s off to find that parka of his. Gloves to match, lined with synthetic fur, and a face mask to keep the winds out. Steve is as bundled up as he can be. At least it’s not sand, he tells himself as he laces up proper boots and hunkers down in the excavation vehicle. There’s a comm on his ear that’s abuzz with people from all over the site, marking out where the plane is under the ice and he can hear the ting of metal falling into cavernous metal.

It’s open and everyone lets the thing breath for a second before Agent Rogers arrives and leads the team into the darkness of it. Why him when really, he should be back at command giving orders to the crew down here?

Well, it is his favorite action figure and Steve could have stolen Fury’s eye patch for that one.

In fact, next time Clint tries, he will blissfully know nothing about it.

Dropping inside, the agent finds his footing on slanted ice. It’s actually created an even floor in the tipped vessel and Steve assigns two with him, three down that way, and two more the other way. He’s going to take to the front of the plane, further down in the darkness with his little headlamp.

He tries not to think of what he’s standing in. What could be found in this place.

They never found a body. He could find... no. He couldn’t think like that. Not now. This was the job. This was something to focus on and not a man long entombed here, if here at all. It’s doubtful, that shield probably having sunk with him to the depths of the arctic waters to drift from time and memory. But not his and Steve breathes hard into the face mask he’s wearing, goggles with a screen on the inside of them helping him search out through the darkness and identify things. If they were right, and the history books were right, the Tesseract would have been in the control main of the aircraft. Somewhere around the pilot’s navigational bay.

Which should be right through this doorway that’s half open from the water. Steve and one of the other agents force it the rest of the way and they slide in, fanning out in the slightly bigger area and checking for readings. Steve pulls a screen from his pocket, checking for EMF, heat, anything that could cause reason for concern or sinking.

What he finds instead is a slightly warmer area of the ice and he moves towards it, watching the screen instead of where he’s going.

Then promptly trips over a shield.

He....

 

Trips over.

 

...... a shield.

Steve can’t breathe for a minute, his heart rate rockets and a voice in his ear is calm but urgent. He says he’s alright but that he may have found something and he resolutely barks at the other two in the room with him to stay their places. Turning from where he has landed on the ice, the agent uses his gloved hand to wipe away some of the cracked shards to reveal red and blue on a silver background, star centered.

Oh God.

If this is here... Steve turns to what he’s leaning back on, the solid form of ice that’s covered this part of the floor. The heat signature. It’s not. That’s not possible. Is it?

There’s a shaking hand that next swipes gently at the ice and the agent swallows hard, glad for the goggles on his face that hide the dilation of his pupils as he stares at a face that he’s only ever seen in reproduction. Only seen on posters on his wall, cards in his hands, on lunch boxes and in replica. The first thought is how handsome he really is, just as Steve always knew he would be. The second is that if he has a heat signature, the good Captain is alive. The third?

“Get a medical team down here, NOW. We have ourselves a problem. Someone get Fury on the comms.”

Well, the third thought is what makes his hands shake harder, his throat scratch when he swallows, the sticky goo of guilt in his chest try to crush everything. He’s kept his head down, he’s tried his hardest, but the Captain has slipped away for the duty of it all. Phil Coulson was still there, don’t get him wrong; especially if the fire that’s alight under his ribcage is anything to go by, that heat that wasn’t hot, just warmth flooding him as he’s pushed out of the way by a medical team. No, he’s always been there, but Steve has put everything away and worked for a better tomorrow. For the betterment of others. It’s no longer about just being a better him and so the Captain has stayed locked away from mind and spirit. There but something to fall into if he ever let himself fall. Everything had been pushed to the background for aliens and magic and saving the world. For running a team and arguing with a director and making good with the junior agents so that he can have a hope of getting their reports on time.

David always said he’d played that card too close to his chest. And now that he’s hovering, having to be dragged out of the groaning plane because he’s afraid of losing the one person who matters most but so few realize matter, Steve thinks his friend just might be right.

Still, there’s a bark in his ear to come report and Steve climbs out of the plane, goes to work.

There’s a bit of giddiness in his heart, though his face remains blank. It’s a bit slack, granted, but it’s blank. He’s an agent of SHIELD. He should act like it and he does. He’s also the one that has been tasked to deal with heroes, so it’s logical to have someone update him on all things that are happening with the Captain. And if it’s a comfort too, who is he to argue. It’s his responsibility after all and when he tucks into a jet to get the frozen man back to New York for proper care, Steve feels elated and not a little bit ill.

It’s worse when he ends up crashing for the night, sprawled out face first on his bunk at headquarters in case they need him. He laughs for a good few moments, manic because this wasn’t supposed to happen. He could dream and think about it but reality? He’s just a kid with a crush and there’s no way he’s going to impress the Captain at all. No way. The man is a World War Two veteran and he’s a superhero. He has the serum and he has to wake up to this new world of technology and values that are blatantly different and styles that are cut to fit everyone instead of cut to fit the Depression and the wars. There are no air raid sirens.

The man is older than him by quite a few years too. He saw the end of the war. He saw the Cold War start. He knows what it means to fight for something and win, to go through too many wars and then fall into the icy depths of arctic water because Red Skull had foregone his initial plan when the Captain had invaded his last place of refuge on the mainland, disappearing to northern shores in the cold. There were so many in the Captain’s background. A Green Beret with shaky hands around him wasn’t going to draw his attention at all.

James Barnes, the friend who fell in USSR territory. Peggy Carter, the woman who grand yarns were spun of after the war in Vietnam come to a close and her story came to light.

Howard Stark, the genius who spent a lifetime looking for him before funding was cut and found something that was redacted from Steve’s clearance level file until just recently. And it’s not like the Tesseract made sense then, when he’d been put in charge of a team that had a longer history than he knew what to do with. Not Barton, though he had his own story to tell, but Natasha who had known he’d been given the information the following day she walked into his office. Because he was looking for ghosts that would always be there but she didn’t remember, herself. She’d glared, he’d stopped, but somehow in that moment there was an agreement and Steve had watched her train every day before walking away later that month, saying that if anything happened he’d come to get her. And she’d laughed at him for that but hadn’t said anything in disagreement.

_They_ were heroes. But so was this man who he knew that he wouldn’t be able to talk to for a good long while. Not if he couldn’t keep it together enough to sleep. Which Steve finally did, passing out with his nose buried under his pillow and his crisp, white button up rolled up his arms enough to show his tattoo sans his jacket. It was a miracle that the man who knocked at his door got a response at all but Steve was up and out the door without his jacket or tie all the same when it came to the Captain.

He remembered his shoes, he’d call that win.

“He’s alive, Sir. And stable.”

“And how exactly did this Captain of yours survive that little ride into the ice, Rogers?”

“He’s not my... We don’t know Sir."

“How do we not know?”

Steve sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose, still dressed down for all purposes considering what he normally wore around work. But the door was closed and any junior agents had gawked long enough to be glared at already, considering the lateness of the hour.

“Nick,” he started, voice quieter and calling attention to himself with the first name. “The best we’ve got, it’s the serum. The same one that kept his fighting all those years without so much as a scar that wasn’t there before he was taken into the Rebirth program after boot camp. It hadn’t worked on anyone before him, but he wasn’t the ideal candidate either and part of a larger pool of applicants when the perfect... heart couldn’t be found. Don’t give me that look, I never knew what to make of it either. Heart isn’t scientific, even I know that much. But Doctor Erskine wrote in his notes that he was calm and collected, had a bit of a temper when pushed with the right buttons. So they let him go through training, go out on the field, saw he wasn’t going to go loco with a gun. Then brought him in for testing. It worked, thank God because we needed him then, but you know as well as I do that there’s no replica or notes on the serum. We know it contains calcium but that wouldn’t explain... this.”

There’s a nod from Fury and Steve just shrugs. There’s nothing they can do and while the Director leans back in his chair to think, the agent lets his head tip over the back of the chair and his gaze to slip shut to the world. The ice kept him safe. The serum must have been what caught him in stasis. But they’re going about defrosting him now, pumping the frozen water from his lungs and stomach. Warming him up. Steve has helped set up the heat lamps and various other devices to try and get the Captain stable. They’re working on a skeleton crew until everyone else shows up from the emergency call.

But that was hours ago and things are running smoothly now. He doesn’t have to help anymore, even if he wishes he could. Because it’s Phil Coulson, in the flesh and alive for Heaven’s sake. There’s nothing he wants more than to help. But he has to sit on his hands until then, figure out what to do with other things going on.

“What are we going to do with him, Rogers?”

“Honestly Sir? I don’t know.”

\------

Whatever they could do with him, it shouldn’t be _that_ , and Steve argued against it at the meeting they were having. Keeping him in containment had its merits but the ideas that they should try to ease the Captain into this century through lies and deceit?

“He won’t trust us after that.”

“Well then what’s your plan?”

“Let me draft it and send it into the Director.”

“Go. And deal with Barton on your way out.”

“Yes Sir.”

It’s Steve’s plan they accept because the agent isn’t completely incompetent when it comes to the Captain. Sure, his hands shake sometime when he goes to check on the man. He’s the agent’s charge right now, unconscious as he is. But he’s also someone that Steve has only the best interest for and somehow, Fury knows that. Fury knows a lot he doesn’t tell anyone though.

So when Steve submits a report to him with the idea to have someone by his bedside when he wakes up, to have that someone alert the only person that might have a clue how to handle a man of the Captain’s strength and birth date, it’s allowed.

And Natasha is called in, because she’s older than she looks and she has a way with words.

She handles it with a grace that Steve would pay to have, the way she keeps herself level and stares down the Captain when she explains that the world has changed. And just how much. The agent doesn't know if his plan is better or worse than the lying bit but he does like that the Captain asks questions. Quiet, a little sad, but Steve can see him on the monitor pull himself together and thank the woman before him. When it’s all said and down, they _both_ walk out and meet with Fury to put a plan into place.

And Steve has given Natasha a file of ideas from a group session he’s pulled with a few physiatrist, historians, and security officers. It contains thoughts on how to help the Captain slip into this world, ways to see the sights, and has keys to an old army bike and apartment  attached to it.

What Steve wants is to make this easy and he has the time to control what happens around the Captain for a bit. He’s here, he has to go see Stark about a thing, but he’s here to make sure things go smoothly for the other. Even if he never knows, behind the scenes there’s someone watching out for Phil Coulson.

That’s the most important bit, the agent feels. That the Captain is at ease is more important than anything else on Steve’s list of ‘to do’ that goes along with being a SHIELD agent. There’s nothing more that he really _can_ do besides, he’s already put off his second trip to New Mexico, and if he can do this small thing? He’s done a lifetime’s worth of good work. At least in his own opinion and really, that was saying something.

It’s nose to the grindstone soon enough, the Captain being given an all clear after a few weeks of crash courses in modern culture. But that also means he’s not around SHIELD anymore, and Steve hasn’t even met him yet. And Natasha has the skills to pick up disappointment in a blank face. So she takes pity (or maybe he should say she does him a favor, he doubts Natasha would be happy thinking she was pitying someone) and writes a personality profile for him to add to the Captain’s file. Steve knows his name has come up as who will be contacting him in the future but he’s grateful for the words on a page nonetheless. It seems that’s as close as he’s going to get to the Captain after all this time, still just words on a page.

Steve isn’t idle though, not at all. He has to work out how to keep a Doctor Foster and a Miss Lewis from completely spilling the beans about extraterrestrials and those are fun phone conversations. Darcy makes him sigh and pace his office but the agent knows that if he can argue his point to her, Jane is more likely to listen after he’s already hammered past the first defenses to her “private research time.”

They’re to come and help Erik Selvig with the Tesseract once they’re done with another few months in New Mexico and Steve checks another thing off the list, even though he still should be out there instead of here.

And it’s going well. Those months pass and he needs to extend Jane’s time away because she needs to go somewhere else to check readings that seem the same as the ones at the Bifrost point. Steve ends up in New Mexico as well, the space between him and knowing the Captain is just a bit further down a particular street clearing his head. It gives him time to find his feet again and tell himself it’s never going to happen. And so he says good luck to Jane and Darcy, quite liking the intelligent women as he helps load up their equipment and waves goodbye.

That was a week ago.

A week ago, the world made sense and his job was to handle agents.

A week ago, the worst he had to worry about was the Hulk in Harlem.

A week ago, he had to worry about Barton stealing the lo mein from his mini fridge and leaving an empty carton in there.

A week ago...

A week Loki was a distant trouble maker that Thor had gone to deal with and there wasn’t a huge crater in the ground where one of SHIELD’s bases used been.

And that starts Steve Rogers’ long journey back to New York, earpiece on and tablet in his hands as he starts to make arrangements. Starts to figure out if the world could handle this. Starts to realize that it couldn’t, not with SHIELD alone. Fury calls it and Steve agrees. They’re going to need the big guns for this one and he swallows, pausing on the Captain’s file on his screen. Blue eyes trace over the other’s face before they close and he’s flicking to the next file of Thor and wondering if there was long distance calling in Asgard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I played with the timelines of the MCU. But I think it's alright. Things happen, Steve is younger than Phil is in the movie, and he's still wet behind the ears. So hopefully no one minds the time warp to get him in contact with all these lovely characters.


	7. The Manhattan Incident

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And that’s how he’d gotten here. Steve swallows, eyes the door in front of him and shakes off his nerves. Because he’s never met this man before but he knows him. Lord does he know him. Coulson has been the guiding star of his life for longer than he can remember, and yet he knows exactly when it all started. He’s always tried to better himself because of the man somewhere on the other side of this plain, wooden door. And now here he was, about to face his hero and he was hiding behind his sunglasses.
> 
> Smooth but required as Steve pulled the coolness of a professional agent around him and knocked.

Steven Rogers is in a state of turmoil.

He boards a plane and zips to New York. Then boards a Quin and he’s on the grated floor of the Helicarrier in less than twenty four hours after the incoming of Loki in New Mexico. Shined shoes travel the metal halls quickly, passing agents with earpieces same as him. There’s been no time, Fury isn’t even here yet, and Steve is flipping through a tablet as he speaks quiet but firm orders to those around him. He’s had his fingers in a lot of pies recently and right now, it’s time to figure out which ones are done and which ones aren’t.

Which is why he sits down at the main conference table with Hill and starts going over things. Not bit by bit, that’s too slow. But what he has, adding in what she knows. She has the Council on her back already, he has an agent he has to find, and both of them are wondering where the ever loving Hell Fury is.

Turns out he’s been in the city, trying to haul in one Captain Coulson for help.

It didn’t work. That Steve could have told him. They have given the Captain no reason to trust SHIELD other than a wavy link to a woman who may or may not be around the same age as him. And Natasha has been off doing other things, hasn’t exactly stuck around to be friends.

But he’s on the phone with her now, having her track down and escort Banner back to the city, back to the world he needs to be a part of. They need his brain, his mind, and though Steve wishes he could say they had a Hulk, he doesn’t want to push it. He won’t push that particular button unless he has to, though since the orders to bring him in were from Fury (or more an irate Hill passing on orders), he’s guessing it’s the big red button that shouldn’t be pushed but will be if things go south. He really hopes, Steve decides as he clicks his phone shut, that things don’t go downhill like a barrel on its side at the top of an incline.

The next time he sees Fury, it’s because he’s been summoned to a side room that doubles as an office. Director’s office, in fact, and Steve stands at parade rest out of habit more than need as Fury gives him orders.

Right. Go pick up the Captain.

“So he agreed?”

“Not yet.”

“Uh... Sir. I think now would be a good time to say that I refuse to bring in the Captain by force. One because he’ll refuse to work with us if we do anyway and two because he’d take out a whole team if he really wanted to.”

“Not asking you to do anything like that, Rogers. You. You are going to talk to him.”

And that’s how he’d gotten here. Steve swallows, eyes the door in front of him and shakes off his nerves. Because he’s never met this man before but he knows him. Lord does he know him. Coulson has been the guiding star of his life for longer than he can remember, and yet he knows exactly when it all started. He’s always tried to better himself because of the man somewhere on the other side of this plain, wooden door. And now here he was, about to face his hero and he was hiding behind his sunglasses.

Smooth but required as Steve pulled the coolness of a professional agent around him and knocked.

Then knocked again after a few moments.

It’s not startling to have the door open. It’s not startling to hear his voice ask who he was or what he wanted. It was startling, however, to be met with clear blue-grey eyes and suddenly lose his train of thought. The agent coughs once before he can get his vocal chords to work at all and then he begins brilliantly.

"Sir... if I could have a moment of just. Just a moment of your time."

At least he’d only stuttered once. Goal: achieved. For now.

“You look like you’re from SHIELD.”

“I am. Agent Steve Rogers, Sir. I believe my name might have been--”

“Natasha told me you’d be the one to contact me after I settled in a bit.”

“Yes Sir." Steve tries so desperately to not shuffle, hands settling behind his back, tablet and all, as he dips his head in greeting. Oh God. He knows his name. "Just seeing how you were settling in, Captain. Came to drop by a few files that you may like to see. In an effort to help. I'm... SHIELD is here if you need us, Sir."

There’s a bit of an eyeing at him before the Captain allows him to enter his apartment. Steve ducks in, knowing time is of the essence, but also knowing that rushing things wasn’t going to help one jot. Plus, he wanted to do this right. Boy, did he ever.

“What have you got for me?”

Bringing the table out to the forefront, deft fingers that have been doing it for far too long bring up the files that Steve mentioned. Thor, Banner, Barton, Romanoff, Stark. All of them are there to see, as well as the information they have on the Tesseract. Well... some of the information. What it does, what it is. Not exactly what it’s being used for and the agent keeps his lips buttoned on that front. No need to scare anyone with precautions. Chewing a bit on the inside of his bottom lip, Steve makes sure everything is up before the screen leaves his hands. He blinks and straightens in his suit, shaking off what he can and giving a small quirk of his lips. The gun at his side feels heavier and he kicks himself mentally because Hill wasn't there to glare at him properly.

"I was tasked with bringing you a few files on the current situation, Sir," Steve speaks up quietly. "I'd be happy to go over them with you. We'd like you on the team, Captain. I understand the Director approached you earlier but I was hoping that a second plea might just get you on board. Sir."

Plea. Begging he could do too. They needed someone who could lead, desperately. And Steve, for all his starstruck qualities, did have a point when he said the Captain was the only one strong enough for it.

“Lot to process, of course. Told the Director I’d think on it,” Coulson offered, taking a seat and flicking through the files. Steve tries not to move closer but he does glance around, finally pulling at his sunglasses and setting them on top his head as he listens. Seems the other had picked things up quickly. “Why are you here and not already fixing this with Stark?”

“Unfortunately, while his file is there, I haven’t been able to contact him as of yet. He has also been taken from the program, though we like to keep his name for backup. Any help is still help, Sir.”

And wasn’t that the truth.

“Don’t need an old warhorse like me around.”

Coulson’s words, which brought Steve up short. Sure, the Captain had been in his thirties when he’d been given the serum. He’d been a last hope for the project, failures before him dying off quickly and not able to give the fighting power required to go against the Nazis or Red Skull. But Phil Coulson had something in him that worked with the serum, though it was said that he became fiercer, angrier for it. The agent moves more readily in front of the other, standing at parade rest as he shakes his head. There is a small tremor in his hands but he attests that to working at a computer most the day. The bob of his throat? Bit dry coming up and down in the Quin like that.

"You're hardly old, Captain," the agent protested lightly. "Tony Stark is... volatile. Unpredictable. Did not decide to join up with the team, actually, as far as I am aware at this moment in time. You're a leader and a strong one at that. We need expertise, not flair. We need..." **_You_**. "Someone who knows what they're doing. You know, if not the enemy, what power the enemy holds. That's a gift right now, Sir. Not only that, you're skilled in areas that we'll need the most help. Tactics, hand to hand should it come down to it. We don't want it to come down to it and you and your team are the best shot we have at somehow arranging this peacefully, we believe."

“And what do you believe?” Coulson’s gaze drops to him and Steve swears he swallows his own tongue. “SHIELD means little to me. Weren’t around when I was. You weren’t either but... you seem like you have a fairly good head on your shoulders. The trained monkey dance that’s been agents coming in and out of here trying to convince has hardly been appealing. You’ve got... something. So what do you believe, son? Not SHIELD or your superiors. You.”

Under the Captain's full glance, the agent takes a silent breath through his nose and answers. Because how can he not?

"I believe that people still need you, Sir," he speaks confidently, if not still quiet and nonintrusive. "That the world is different even from when I was a kid and that's not so jarring as it was for yourself. But that some things don't change. And someone to look up to, someone that's maybe a little... older and wiser than the rest of us. That man is exactly who we need. And that man is you."

After the little speech, the back of his neck is cooler than he thought it would be and Steve meets the Captain's gaze level, brow just quirking before a small twitch up at the corner of his lips gives him away just a tad before he has it back under control. He is an agent, a professional. He can handle this.

“Good answer. Where do you need me?”

Or he thought he could handle this. The pure and unadulterated joy that seeps into his being has Steve wanting to relax and shake the Captain’s hand. He does not. Instead, his smile beams for a second, which seems to cause the other to double blink, before his shades are back on and he’s ushering the Captain to the Quin where Quartermain awaits to take them to the Helicarrier.

“Quartermain will take us back to headquarters where you'll meet up with the rest of your team and the Director for further debriefing and latest updates that we might have missed while away."

He tries not to think about the eyes on him as he loads everyone back into the jet with a wide eyed look at the pilot that says yes, he knows who he is. No, he doesn't want to talk about it.

"These are the files on your teammates Sir. As I showed you before. They might have a bit more meaning now," Steve offers, pulling them up on the tablet and handing it over. "If you'll excuse me, I should check the flight path."

He gives the okay after a few whispered words with Quartermain and gives himself enough time to breath before heading back over to the Captain, trying not to stare and doing a pretty good job at keeping his composure so far. If he could just not go knobbly kneed and act like he’s 7 instead of 27, he’ll be alright. He thinks. Then again, when the Captain looks up at him and smiles, the agent wonders if he should have been more concerned about having no knees at all as he swallows down heat in the back of his neck. Oh he’s so glad he has a collar and tie today.

“Why not one of the others? Stark has to be a better choice. He’s all... technology and now. Like I said, I’m older.”

“That’s exactly why, Captain. The problem? Mainly? He's reckless... something that this delicate business can't afford. He has a good heart, he's trying to atone for the past in manufacturing weapons, but he'd rather bulldoze in. When Loki took out that base in New Mexico, it wasn’t because someone threaded the eye of a needle and he just happened to pop into that base. It wasn’t a delicate operation, he came in, took over, and walked out. " A frown crossed Steve's face for a moment, shaking his head as he thought about the man on the screen before the Captain. "Stark has all of my respect for what he can build and achieve. But the man's a bit like a mix of Kurt Cobain and Einstein."

Steve didn’t realize until too late that he’d made a mistake. And it was a mistake, because he knew the facts about the Captain, at the very least. He never thought he’d meet the man, he questioned everything he knew now that he had, but he knew the facts. And the perplexed look on his face reminded the agent that damn it, he hadn’t been around that long.

“Who?”

“A very troubled young singer, Sir.”

This seems to gain the approval of the Captain and Steve somewhat relaxes, leaning onto the bulkhead of the Quin and crossing his arms. When Phil stands, however, he doesn’t know what procedure is anymore. Should he move back? Stand his ground? Raise his chin as if it’s a challenge? He doesn't jump but it feels like his heart does as Phil comes to stand next to him. **_The_ ** Captain America and he double blinks before inclining his head in question.

“Am I to assume you’re going to be my liaison for SHIELD then?”

"I've been tasked with arranging all of you, I can only assume that after this event, I'd continue. God willing." Shifting his weight so that he's facing the Captain more, Steve bites into his bottom lip and grinning a bit shyly. They’re going to be in the air for a bit, before they land on the Helicarrier. Maybe... maybe now is a good time to just express his joy at the Captain being in this with him. Them. Him. No, definitely them. SHIELD. Yes. "I just want to say what an honor it is to have you with us, Sir. I've... I've been a fan for quite some time. I was. I was present when they found you in the ice. I was one of the ones that helped warm you back up."

Or maybe it was time for him to grab a chute and just jump out the window. That could work too. For the love of all that was holy, that did not just come out of his mouth. Steve could have died right there and not have noticed and he almost swears he hears snickering from somewhere. But he ignores it and tries to fix the rather nonplussed, raised brow that has crossed the Captain’s face.

"I mean... I was part of the team that calculated the biological heating process, the angles of the heat lamps and such."

Steve coughed, feeling suddenly ill and grinned before slowly stepping backwards from the Captain in apology and going to check on the flight path. Again. Quartermain was chuckling into his headset and Steve wanted to do everything in his power to make life miserable for his friend. A scowl etched into his face and he felt a hot gaze on his back. But he refused to turn around, hearing the Captain come towards him, and the agent really did wish he could just fall through the floor and into the ocean. Bounce off the rocks and end up in Atlantis where the fishes swam freely and maybe one would eat him.

“Glad to hear someone still believes in me.”

If he was a lesser agent, the man might have made a noise instead of reply to the Captain. Instead, the young man breathed in, bit his tongue, and dipped his head in silent acknowledgement. Because apparently, Steve and his tongue were not getting along and if he could cut it out and still do his job? He might consider it right now. And he's going to kick Clay, he decides as he glares where he can see the reflection in the glass. Just... if this story gets out, he knows exactly who to blame.

"I think, with everything going on behind the scenes right now that could flood the limelight... people are going to need someone to believe in, Captain."

At least he got that part right and Steve offers a tiny smile before Coulson is back to his seat as the Quin starts to descend. The agent goes a bit ashen but nothing more happens as he pulls his glass down and lets them drop to the bridge of his nose. Work was now his priority and he had to make sure that everything was in order. That was his job. That something he could do and not mess up so badly, like he had with the Captain. Because surely, no one would give anyone the time of day after that misstep.

Walking down to the airstrip, Steve is more than happy to see a familiar face. It seems the Captain is as well, Phil and Natasha greeting each other before Steve loops around and hijacks the conversation.

"Agent Romanov," Steve says, even but with a slight hiccup of appreciation there for a well deserving agent before his voice goes serious. "Any news from Barton?"

“Not yet.” She hands him a headpiece and Steve tucks it over his ear, pinching the battery back to the inside of his coat on his shoulder holster. “Fury wanted to see you, as well.”

“Oh good. I leave you in good hands, Captain. If you'll excuse me."

And he's off, a tension in his back that had sprung up with the question about the archer setting his stride long and fast as he takes the stairs down into the helicarrier quick as can be. He's quick to try and triangulate where his agent is from last known coordinates and he ends up next to Hill, asking a few questions when the Captain comes down with the rest. Steve finds himself in a mindset, enough so that he can return the Captain's nods with one of his own without missing a syllable. He doesn't want to think what Hill might say if he was mooning and he ends up with a tablet in his hands with information on it that has him running his hand through his hair. Not good.

They're missing a prized agent and he's missing a friend. Lips purse so hard that they drain a bit of color and he leans over the back of an agent's chair before he glances to the right and sees Natasha. She’s flipping through the other screen, looking at Barton as well. Silently, he hands over the tablet in his hands. She flicks through it before handing it back, nodding once.

If anything, he had to find Clint for her and blue eyes returned to the screen before he was straightening and taking a step backwards to go check another reading from the man's bow to try and figure out where he could be.

Steve doesn't expect the fingers on his jacket and his head comes up from where he's looking, blinking rapidly at the Captain before his head tilts just slightly towards him, as if to give Phil his ear.

“I... heard about some cards.”

“Cards?”

“Trading cards. Of yours.”

He’s going to kill Natasha. Or at least attempt to complain to her while she blinks at him. After this whole mess was done, he was taking her and dropping her somewhere. And that would be that.

“Well, I..." he starts and then seems to find his voice stops working. "They're vintage."

Really, Rogers? Really? But his lips quirk a bit and something fond passes like a spark through his eyes.

"Spent years collecting them. They're slightly foxed but... they're mine and I'd be thrilled to have you sign them Captain. In a minute. If you don't mind too much. I... I was going to ask you later, actually."

“Natasha said you were going to ask me to sign them. I know how long it takes to set up missions. Especially with little information. Figured I’d offer before you could ask. Gives us all something to focus on to pass the time instead of me sitting here waiting for a call right?”

And is his neck red again? It feels hot, possibly smoking, and Steve wants to melt into the floor in front of the Captain. He doesn’t, though it’s not the man, it’s the timing. The sound of a buzzer behind him and Steve turns curtly on his heels to see a face that has his nose just twitching to keep his lips from curling back. Looking over his shoulder, he grins tightly but apologetically at the Captain.

"Maybe another time, Captain Coulson. It looks like it's about time for you to suit up and bring that man in. Here," Steve offered, offering Phil a headset as Fury gave orders above them. "Quinjet C4 is ready to take off and waiting for a Captain."

Everything moves faster from there on out. It’s not a pretty fight, though Steve can’t say he didn’t take a millisecond to watch the Captain’s lines. It wasn’t admiration for a legend, though there was some of that. It was wondering where he’d learned this or that, what war it was that brought things together, and just how strong was Loki to stand up to that kind of punch. Because Coulson was hitting hard and he’d seen Thor, yes, but this wasn’t like that. This was one on one and even if they had the Destroyer bits and bobs... shouldn’t the god at least be stunned from the hits?

And then the music kicks on. And then the groan from him and the stiffening of Hill’s shoulders takes place. Because AC/DC or whoever it is needs to not be on their speakers and Maria’s voice cuts through it before the comms are cut and the hijacked links restored.

The next time Steve isn’t looking at a tablet in his hands or running around trying to figure out why Loki was in Germany but Barton was not was when Stark walked through the door.

“You need training in manners.”

“You need to get that stick out of your--”

“I will punch you.”

“I will laugh at you and then fly you to Maui to take a vacation. Really, you could use one Agent.”

“Go see the rest of the team.”

“My team you mean.”

“Like Hell it is.”

But there’s a quirk of his lips and Stark goes to meet Banner. He doesn’t like any of this, of course. He doesn’t like Thor appearing and trying to take their hostage. He doesn’t like that said hostage didn’t take his chance to flee when there was one. He didn’t like any of it and he made it known to Hill, quietly and to the side. She agreed and both parted ways to check on their respective monitors.

Because something was wrong and nothing was right. Steve had always been good at following his gut. It was what nature had given him to follow, to heed well, and he had for the most part. The only time he’d ignored it was when he’d stood on the edge of a high obstacle course and tried not to vomit as David had repelled down it.

Barton was somewhere. Arrows aren’t common and he’d been there but Steve isn’t sure where he is now and he growls at the screen before him, setting down his tablet and moving towards the door. He’s halfway down the hallway when he hears the clatter behind him of something moving. He whips around but doesn’t see anyone, blue eyes narrowing because it’s like there is a ghost aboard the helicarrier. And it’s not a benevolent one, the agent decides, as he goes to turn a corner to get his own data from down in the labs on their prisoner.

Only, there’s a broad and warm chest in his way and Steve damn near falls over, a curse or two ringing from his lips as strong hands catch him. Blue clad arms and his gaze falls on the Captain’s before a too long pause has him straightening quickly.

“We seem to keep running into each other, Agent Rogers.”

“So it would seem, Captain.”

“You know, if we’re working together, you should call me Phil.”

That again brings Steve up short. Because they’re working and things seem... strange. He feels strange, himself, but he doesn’t know why. Not at all. But it’s deep, like an off current of his brain, and he tries to shake it off to reply.

“Then please, call me Steve.”

“You’re the only one I know around here in this whole mess.” And like that, things snapped into place. The Captain was looking for something familiar in the unknown. Steve could understand that and he smiles, brightly, at the next question, even if only for a moment. “You have those cards?”

“I do. But I’m afraid they’re in my locker, Sir. Er. Phil. Why don’t you go meet up with Banner and Stark in the labs, see what they’re learning from the spear Loki was using. Maybe having seen it in action, you can offer some leads to them. And I’ll run and get those cards, meet you down in the labs. Alright?”

There’s a nod, a clap of his shoulder that lingers, and Steve is missing the Captain in front of him already. It’s as if there’s something amplifying all that’s there and he aches to know what it is. Because he can normally control himself. Normally.

It can’t just be the Captain. So what was it?

Turned out to be the mysterious spear on board, according to Fury in his ear. There’s a brief run down as the helicarrier shakes and rocks, Steve sliding across the floor and hooking doorframe with his arm as he listens. The arguments of the team didn’t sound really all that good and with his cards tucked into his pocket, the agent has to figure out which way is up first before shaking himself out of it.

Right. First things to be taken care of. If Barton is here... then they need to get to Loki. Steve barks orders and questions in turn into his headpiece, coming around a corner and finding the Captain running. The helicarrier pitches again and he slides where the Captain doesn’t. His jacket is grabbed and Steve has never been so grateful in his life when he hears an explosion that he has a hero on his side and not just his gun.

“Need to watch your footing there, Rogers.”

“Yes Sir.”

“These your cards?”

“Yes.”

“Safer in my armor. They’ll remind me that I’ve got responsibilities to do after this. Go. They need you on the floor.”

His cards are gone from his inner pocket and he’s nodding before he’s slipping once more towards command. He doesn’t understand, not quite, why the Captain would take them. But he remembers hearing about a compass that showed a lady’s picture. A letter from a little girl that had been in the Captain’s jacket pocket since his USO days. Things that he’d once told men fighting beside him helped get him through.

Well, if he needed something in this new era. And it was an emergency situation. At least Steve had helped. Somehow. It wasn’t perfect. It was fast and messy and didn’t make sense. But it was something he could grab onto that felt more solid than the railing he had in his hands as he grabbed a taser and headed out.

The thing about Loki was he was a trickster. So when Thor went for him, the agent assumed he would have it handled. After all, they’d been brothers. They’d fought before. Surely Thor knew all his tricks?

So Steve trusted him. And headed for the one person he didn’t know how would react under the control.

Barton.

More specifically, he was looking for the hole he’d made in the carrier. A quin was not easy to lose but they could with everything going on. And Steve didn’t need the Helicarrier crippled and all those responsible once more slipping out the way they’d come.

So he darts up a few stairs. He struggles into some of the inner workings and tubings of the carrier. And then he hears that Natasha has Clint.

And that Loki has Thor instead of the other way around.

Which is a problem because right now, as he turns the corner and feels sea breeze, that’s not exactly what he wants to hear. Because that means that the trickster could be anywhere.

Including in front of him.

Oh look.

“Loki.”

“Agent Rogers, I am to presume from the flustered cries within the communications about this place.” The spear gleamed in his hand and Steve straightened, hearing people in his ear trying to deal with what was going on. Alright. Then he’d deal with this one, though Loki’s eyes gleamed with a smile that was a touch mad but completely present. “Oh, you are quite the young one, are you not?”

There’s a step towards him and Steve doesn’t move back. But he does move to the side, drawing his taser. Worked on Thor, should at least give the others time to get here.

“That doesn’t belong to you,” the agent offered, motioning towards the weapon. “You’re out numbered, Loki. And out gunned.”

“But I have won already, haven’t I? Stepped inside not your heads, but hearts. The anger of the beast. The loyalty of an assassin. The worship of a hero? Oh... Oh no. The love of one. Oh Agent Rogers, you should have spoken to him sooner. You will not get a chance now.”

There is a split second where he hears the rustle of movement behind him. He’s moving in that time, though it’s just not quick enough.

He turned to find a thin but deadly blade through his sternum. Steve gasped in a breath as he heard a crack of bone and felt his chest sag in a way it shouldn’t. There was a murmur through his comms and the agent had enough time to think before the world when blurry around the edges that oh, they can still hear him. They can still hear both of them. That wasn’t... what he wanted at all as he found an armor clad chest closer to him and the gaze of the god of mischief far too close.

Green eyes. That’s all Steve could see as his throat was held and the blade taken from his chest. He couldn’t breathe and Loki leaned in far enough where his comm would pick up whatever he said, more intimate than before.

“You fought well,” the god almost purred, eyes cold and lips drawn into a line. There was no cackling madman, nothing more than a man who had lived too long and yet, not enough. Steve almost... pitied him. He’d never learn with that hollowness in his eyes. “But today is the day you die, Agent Rogers.”

He’s left to slip to the ground on his own, cheek resting on the cool metal of the helicarrier floor. Steve hears a shout on his comms of his name in a voice he recognizes but only just, the growl of the Captain the last he really hears before a buzzing starts that sounds suspiciously like white noise. At least... at least he knew that Barton had been brought down. At least Stark had forced the turbine to work. Sounded like the Hulk was off the carrier as well. Natasha hopefully would have a drink to him, force one on Barton too if he wasn’t already there with her. Hill was going to be pissed that he died... think of the paperwork? And the cleanup of the stain. He should, he should apologize before he goes. Or maybe just try not to bleed so much, but moving to his back or the attempt to, causing too much pain.

As black invades his vision, the agent somewhat smiles, feeling cold in a way that hit slow as it twinkled through him. Blue eyes close to the grey of the wall, his shirt wet, and he says goodbye to his last dream as darkness consumes everything about him.

He hopes, in the end, he’s made the Captain proud.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With the Fourth of July and my own homework, my updates have been sporadic here at best. But here's another chapter and yay slowly getting to the end of all things.


	8. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coming to next time is painful. And Steve wheezes out with it as he finds that he’s rolled just a tad to his side, causing pain and bone deep ache through his chest that spasms the muscles that he uses to breath. 
> 
> Damn it.

Steve woke to a heart monitor beeping and bemoaned the choices of bleach in hospitals because that’s not the first thing he wants to smell when he’s stopped being dead, thanks.

Not that these thoughts are particularly coherent, his brain feeling like it was wrapped in a wet and warm towel, sunk to an appropriate depth to bloat. And he can’t take a full breath, something binding his chest and making it hard to... breathe.

He can breathe again. If he wasn’t so groggy, couldn’t feel the needle in his arm and the oxygen around his nose, he’d sit up. Actually, he’d just take opening his eyes. That seems too much though and he swears he hears a chorus of quiet voices all telling him different things to do.

There’s only one hand that brings ice chips to his lips though and Steve just appreciates the coolness of it before he drifts back off without taking any of the given water.

\------

When he wakes the second time, he doesn’t remember the first.

He’s awake enough to look straight at the Captain, give a hiccupping chuckle, and shake his head before asking if this was Heaven and if it was, what was he doing here? He shouldn’t be here, there’s too much he hasn’t done right. Blue-grey eyes just watch him with steely concern and Steve takes the hand that comes up to hit the nurse call button, linking it with his own before falling back into a drug induced haze.

He won’t remember the soft ‘ _You're just like I thought you'd be. You're amazing. I waited my whole life to meet you,_ ’ that slips from his lips either, or the surprise that shows through on the Captain’s face. But perhaps that’s for the best.

\------

Thankfully, the third time is much better than the first or second. Though he again cannot remember either. Yet, with the tightness in his chest and the too bright lights, Steve does and will remember this one. Coherency, it would seem, is not his friend.

Nor is groaning, because that sends vibrations through his chest like he’s piano chords and he never did pick up playing an instrument. It’s the jumping of his thoughts that leads Steve to believe he is sick, or worse, and when blue eyes flutter to a dulled light of a pastel room... worse seems to be the winning answer. Hospital, his brain supplies, though that’s about as much as it’s willing to give. Time still has no meaning except that there is light coming from under the blinds of the window, a narrow strip on the floor that he can just barely see past his feet. Quiet registers and the agent finds breathing a pain in the ass.

Speaking, he really feels the urge to move as Steve’s fairly sure that his entire lower half should not feel like it’s asleep.

There’s movement at the side that is not the window, though at the moment is mind is not providing if that’s left or right. It is just other and Steve’s neck rolls gently to come face to face with an eyepatch. It takes him a minute before he tries to speak and is silenced with a hand up. There are voices outside the door and one is very angry from the sound of it but that seems to disappear when Fury starts to talk.

“Nicked your heart, that spear, but it was a clean slice. Not necessarily good for the bones to grip each other, you have a few staples in you for that, but you’re healing better than expected.” The Director stared at him, long and hard, before shaking his head and standing. “You realize you’re a dumbass.” And Steve’s lips quirk into the slightest of smiles to show he does know. “Light duty when you get out. Don’t die in here. I’ve already taken enough blows for you being alive.”

Still though, the pats his arm with a gruff ‘get well’ and then the door is bursting open and Steve blinks at Captain Coulson, who is glaring hard and unyielding at his boss. Oh boy. Steve couldn’t do more than shift his head without something rasping painfully in his chest, so he stayed silent and hoped he could at least fix a little bit of this with eyebrow movements and slightly muffled words. Possibly some finger twitches.

Oh! He can twitch his fingers! That was improvement, surely.

While internally and loopily celebrating the little victories over his body, there was a curt and quick conversation at the door. Steve only glanced up when the snap of a handle signaled a rather quick leaving and his brow furrowed before he tried talking about.

This time, he wasn’t silenced. Instead though, ice chips were brought to his lips under his oxygen tube and the man was grateful for the coolness that slipped down his throat. Blue eyes slowly opened wider and the agent made to thank the Captain while trying to sit up. The slash of pain through his chest sent him reeling and strong hands on his shoulders kept him down as he caught his breath.

Oh, he couldn’t work like this. Not for awhile. And that thought sent Steve’s mind into something defiant, had him struggling just a little. But Coulson is stronger than him and the agent eventually relaxes, coming to more and letting his head roll to look at him with fogged blue eyes.

“You’re here?”

It’s almost words. It’s words with the edges scraped off of them, half done and half breath. Something not quite right but there, and more whole than absence.

“Yes. And you should be resting. Not flopping about like a fish.”

“I hate being still.”

“You’re going to have to get used to it.”

Steve is quiet after that, just squinting slightly at the Captain where he’s taken a seat. He’s already breathless and tired again after his little stint and the agent lays still to try and conserve some strength. Just to talk for a bit. He doesn’t know how long he’s been out but it feels like that’s Coulson’s spot by the way it’s set up. Book on the table besides him, little rolling table with some cards and files on it. Things that would be needed to entertain the other through long periods of silence.

Well, not silence. Steve’s gaze shifts and rolls a bit to where something is reading out his heart rate. He wonders if there’s really a need for the beeping or if that’s a comfort thing. Because the system could ping if he went flat, couldn’t it? They don’t necessarily need the noise, do they?

The thoughts grow distant and Steve returns his gaze to Phil, only to find his own latched onto and the agent wonders if he’s struggling to breath from the wound in his ribcage or blue-grey eyes.

Definitely was never going to get those right in his most private sketches.

“Team?”

“All accounted for, even Barton.”

“Good... You?”

“Me?”

“You okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be okay, Agent Rogers?”

Steve grimaces slightly at the title, because he doesn’t feel very agent like right in that moment. But he tries to focus through the fog in his head, the one that every once and awhile pass in front of his eyes. It’s just a slip of his gaze behind his eyelids and then he’s back in the waking world, the Captain leaned forward now and when did he do that?

“Steve.”

“You fell asleep on me.”

“S’rry.”

“You should be resting.”

“Why are you here?”

And that’s the main bit, the bit he was trying to get to but his tongue was too heavy for him work properly. So he took what he could get and what he could get was blunt and somewhat wayward. Wonderful. Even in a daze, Steve could tell that he was not winning points like this. Not when the Captain’s gaze turned to the floor, his forearms on the bed beside the agent. Oh. He’s done and stuck his foot in his mouth again. Lovely. He’s not even that flexible currently.

And he should not be thinking of how flexible he was or was not in the presence of the Captain. No. Steve chewed himself out before quiet words brought back around his attention, blue eyes focusing on Coulson.

“Can’t a fella make sure his team is alright when they’re down for the count?”

“I’m SHIELD.”

“So?”

“... Is that part of your team?”

“You are. They’re not.”

“But I’m-”

“Drugged. And slurring, though I doubt you hear it. Rest, Rogers. I’ll be here when you wake up again.”

“Steve.”

“Steve...”

The way his name sounds coming from the Captain’s lips leaves the agent a bit more lightheaded than he would care to admit. Damn. He really was out of it because he’s fairly sure the goofy smile he’s wearing isn’t helping.

Only... it’s being returned. A bit. Captain Coulson is smiling at him, soft and Steve wonders if he’s imagining the fondness there. He has to be and he mumbles about shining stars that leaves the other man’s brow furrowed before he nods back off into the world of medicine and memory, blackness and void.

\------

Coming to next time is _painful_. And Steve wheezes out with it as he finds that he’s rolled just a tad to his side, causing pain and bone deep ache through his chest that spasms the muscles that he uses to breath.

Damn it.

He finds sturdy hands on his shoulders though, a calm but worried voice wafting over his ears, and soon enough his weight is positioned once more on his back. Even and steady puffs of air leave him until he can breath normally and Steve opens his eyes to look at the Captain standing by his bedside. He’s not hovering, per say, but the agent definitely gets the idea that he’s being guarded. Protected. In any way that the Captain can, even though it’s a chest wound that can hardly be protected from twinges and pangs.

The man looks concerned, vastly so, and Steve reaches for him to assure him he’s going to be okay. That his hand is actually taken as Coulson sits is new as far as he knows, but the agent is hardly going to complain. He doesn’t know if he has the air to do so anyways.

“You’re back.”

“I never left.”

That brings Steve to a stand still. Well, he’s laying down but it brings all garbled thoughts to a halt. The Captain can’t seriously have been here all that long... could he?

Steve doesn’t get a chance to ask right then, a nurse appearing with a needle full of something to add to his IV. The agent firmly objects, but he’s overruled by the Captain. To which Steve glowers heartily because what was this? He didn’t like the idea of drugs, not any kind, even if they were helping. That meant he only had a limited amount of time to talk, more coherently than before. When the nurse left, a narrowed gaze turned on the Captain, who was sitting side by side the hospital bed, feet up on the lowered handrails as he read.

“I don’t need them.”

“Yeah you do.”

“You’re not a doctor.”

“I’ve seen enough to know that you wheezing will only hurt you more. You needed them.”

“Better question, why did they listen to you?”

“SHIELD facility. I pulled rank. I don’t know if you could hear it over your own chest.”

“I thought I was in a private facility that just happened to take SHIELD agents.”

“You are. That doesn’t mean some of the staff aren’t on our side.”

“Didn’t realize you affiliated with SHIELD."

“I haven’t.”

Steve wanted to toss his hands into the air, the Captain infuriating as he flipped pages slowly. Why was he there if it wasn’t for some sort of guardianship put in place by Fury to make sure that the spear hadn’t done anything to him?

Maybe it was survivor’s guilt. And then finding out he was alive sent them all into a rotation of keeping him safe where they couldn’t before. But so far, Steve had only seen the Captain. Not another one of the team. So maybe not. It was all very confusing and whatever had been put into his drip was going to kick in soon. The agent knew he didn’t have a lot of time, so he focused on the important bits. Or the ones he could remember, still a bit stuffy as if he had a pillow in his head.

“You said you didn’t leave,” he starts slowly. “How long have I been out this time?”

“Just a little over twelve hours.”

“Then why didn’t you go? I would have been fine on my own.”

“As you proved so well just there.”

“That wasn’t what I asked.”

“What do you want to hear?”

“An answer. Preferably yours.”

“Don’t sass me, boy.”

“What are you going to do about it, _Sir_?”

And it’s not angry or frustrated, it’s tired and comes with a smile. Something dopey but still there as Steve blinks lazily at the Captain by his side. Who is glaring hard and not as pleased as the agent is that he’s able to actually use his brain so well, though he still can’t move worth a damn.

“You think this is a joke?”

The quiet of the question has Steve’s gaze leaving the other man and returning to the ceiling. He wonders how many times he’ll have counted the tiles by the time he’s out of there. How many times he’ll hum at them alone when the Captain finally leaves. Because he will, Steve’s sure of it. There have to be better things for him to be doing, after all.

“No. But I’m confused and this is how I handle things sometimes when I can’t control them.”

“With humor.”

“To a certain extent.”

There’s a heavy sigh and Steve’s head lulls again to the side, watching Coulson rub at his eyes, feet back on the ground. He wants to reach for him, but that’s hardly appropriate when the other has already dropped his hand when he started to argue about the meds.

“You’re a good man. You shouldn’t be here on your own.”

“I’m used to it, Captain.”

“Well, you shouldn’t be.”

The fierceness in the statement leaves Steve blinking and he can’t be sure that he hasn’t imagined all this up. That he’s dreamed up the Captain to tell the nurse to give him meds, that this conversation is really happening.

The joy of medication, the agent supposes. But it’s still a question he has to ask as he lets his hand slide to the edge of the bed. He’s starting to feel his chest less and less, he knows that things are kicking in to make him feel ‘better’ though the statement is concerning only his body and not his mind. The only thing he can think of to make it better slips out of his mouth before Steve can fully grasp the meaning of it, the promise behind it.

“It’s going to be okay. I’m going to be okay.”

Apparently, that’s what was needed and the Captain relaxes a margin. Shoulders aren’t so cut glass, they’re firm lines that run all the way down to a thinner waist. And when the agent’s eyes come back up, it’s to a quirked brow of the other and a sudden stuttering of his heart monitor.

Damn it! Not again.

“So... why are you here, again?”

“Because I can be.”

“You don’t have to stay, you know.”

“I know. I want to.”

“Oh... why?”

“I thought we already went over this.”

“I’m not a good man.”

“You’re right. You’re one of the best."

Now that has Steve wanting to curl in on himself and just dip those words from this man in gold. Cast them in bright metal to keep them forever because isn’t that what he’s been working for? Despite putting away the memories of aching hearts to work a job that needed him, wasn’t this what he had been looking for? Approval from a man that hadn’t lived and yet, had lived too long?

Yes. Everything was yes and Steve was feeling lighter, though he suspected that was the IV in the back of his hand. His heart rate was steady, just elevated. As if waiting for more. As if waiting for some sort of doubt. As if waiting for the other shoe.

When none came, the agent relaxed. Maybe he was here because of him. But he didn’t deserve it, surely not. But it felt good to think about anyways.

“Thank you, Sir.”

“Phil.”

“What?”

“My name is Phil. You can call me that, the same as before.”

“... O-okay.”

Well. That was something else entirely. Something more. And Steve murmured a bit incoherently as he thought about it, too used to being on his own with his thoughts that he hadn’t realized he’d done so until there was a quiet chuckle from his side.

When he turned his head, the agent came face to face with sparkling blue-grey eyes that were directly in front of him. Had Phil moved that quietly to lean onto the bed and Steve not notice? Apparently and the man grinned at the Captain, lost for a moment in his gaze before he let his own fall to the mattress where the other’s forearms were crossed near his bicep. He was going to start fading back out soon, he could feel it, and despite hating it, Steve knew it was for the best. When his gaze came back up, the Captain was still watching him with that look in his eyes that Steve hesitated to call fondness. He wasn’t that lucky. He had to work for everything he got. He just... wasn’t going to get this.

“Thank you,” he whispers as Phil nods slowly. “For staying. I didn’t expect anyone to be here when I woke up.”

“Of course. Rest up. There are people waiting for you to get out of here.”

Are you one of them? Steve wanted to ask as he closed his eyes, taking a deeper breath that pulled in a way that was mostly uncomfortable and hurt just a bit. Yeah, the meds were working, thank God. But he swore, as he drifted, he felt fingers find his own. And he had been so sure he hadn’t asked that one out loud, so sure. Yet, even as he sunk back down into a painless sleep, he could still hear the faded answer of the Captain.

“Yes.”

\------

It takes him a few days to adjust. Those few days are him poking and prodding at the Captain to get him to go home, to stop sleeping on the cot in the corner he finally notices, to not waste his time on an ex-Green Beret that can take care of himself. Big boy pants, he’s got this. It’s not the first time he’s been hung up in a hospital. And it won’t be the last he’s sure.

That comment gets him a glare and an argument about how he needs to not jump into danger just because he can. Steve counters that it’s his job to do so, same as the Captain’s. Neither has to like it, it’s just the way it is.

However, when Steve starts to shift and shuffle and move about and the doctors start to lessen how much is going into his IV, the agent thinks it about time he started moving. Much to the chagrin of the man that has spent vigil by his bedside. They are not in agreement on this, not at all, but Steve wins out because he does have logic on his side. He needs to start moving about sooner rather than later. He has been down for awhile now, his bones are healing at the prefered rate (even a little better, and he’s spent an afternoon with his hands in the Captain’s as they argue because he’s gone poking around his chest, but he’s not telling a soul), and he’s starting to heal over. It’s not rushing, it’s been weeks of healing that he’s been in and out for. It’s only been the last few days that he’s really coming around.

It’s still difficult. It’s still hard. But the first time he sits up with the help of the mechanical bed, Steve almost hoots in triumph. When he gets his arms lifted over a certain point, he grins like an idiot for the rest of the day.

And then comes the day he decides moving his legs will be key in this whole endeavor of getting back into tip top physical condition. One step at a time, of course, but when the nurse asks if he’d like to walk to the bathroom and back, Steve weighs in with his answer before anyone else can say anything. Including the Captain, who is there to help him in this too. Only it’s not a card, it’s not a book. It’s warm hands and a warmer voice that at any other time would leave Steve outside of work hanging on each syllable like a schoolboy with a crush.

“Yes, if I could.”

It’s a whole process. Sit up with the help of the bed, check. Swing his legs around and stretche them over the side as he catches his breath, check.

… Realize his scrubs open all the way down the back? Well. Shit.

“Uh, could I please have some scrubs before I go any further?”

“Of course, Agent Rogers.”

The nurse is kind enough to help him into them, but when feet meet the floor, his bad knee buckles to a slew of curses that are softly spoken. Breathless, Steve is glad for the strong arms suddenly around his waist and the nurse on his other side, a crutch.

“Guess old wounds still like to screw everything up when they can.”

“Old wounds?”

“Uh... I’ll explain later.”

Phil looks at him curiously and Steve wonders when he went from Captain to Coulson to Phil. But it was sometime this week, in the last few days, when the other hadn’t explained why he wasn’t leaving. He just... hadn’t. It was action over words and Steve could appreciate that. Very much so as he shuffled his weight and stood on a sore knee with an aching chest. He takes one step, then another, and all he needs is the nurse, though Phil stays at his flank.

He shouldn’t be surprised by warmth at his back. Phil has been taking up his hand now and again throughout the whole of their time together. And even sometimes before or after that, as Steve will wake or fall asleep with a hand in his own. It’s always over the back of his hand, always just a squeeze before laying there.

But it’s the Captain and Steve isn’t going to say a thing to make it stop happening. But he thinks it should have prepared him for the hand on his naked spine, warm and large and rough with shield calluses.

“That’s mine.”

It takes Steve a minute. Almost exactly a minute. His head comes up and blue eyes snap over his shoulder to see Phil’s attention on his tattoo. The tattoo of the kite shield that has been on his skin since he finished basic.

And he’s not proud of it but when fingers trail down and off his back, Steve shuffles into the bathroom and locks the door, flipping on the water so he can lean on the counter and catch his breath and wonder how he’s going to explain this one. He’s done so well, asking appropriate questions and talking about appropriate things. The agent doesn’t think he’s given away anything that would lead to Phil thinking he’s as much of a fan as he is.

This could change that, and the perception the Captain has of him.

With a quick go around, Steve hobbles back to the hospital bed, best agent face on as the nurse appraises his progress and redoes his dressings. The tattoo under his collar bone sits bright, as well as the one around his arm under his elbow that is Celtic knot work to remember his mother by. But the shield... that’s different. That’s something that was done in memory of a man who he slowly had morphed into something that Phil may or may not be.

With all the talking they’d done, the agent thinks the Captain may just be exactly the kind of guy he’s always imagined he was. Good and true and a bit blunt. Hard edges hidden behind strong lines. As he lays back down, bed propped up just a tad, Steve finally gains the courage to look over at the other man, eyeing the contemplative look on Phil’s face.

“Earth to Coulson.”

“Hmm...”

“Did you want to know about the old wound?”

“I’d rather know about the shield on your back.”

“There’s not much to know. I’ve always looked up to you. Got it after basic training.”

“And that’s it?”

A deep breath.

“... that’s it.”

Phil gives him a look that is both deep and sweltering. So much so that Steve starts to sweat and his heart rate increases, the monitor giving him away. There’s a curse and he reaches to take the thing off, before the noises stop altogether and the Captain holds up the cord. It brings a nurse running but she backs out when it’s explained in a very curt but polite voice that everything is fine. Steve admits, when the Captain isn’t pleased, everyone can tell. He kind of wishes he could back out of the room too, now that blue-grey eyes are focused solely on him with no interruptions.

“That’s not it.”

“No, it’s not. But that’s what I’m willing to say.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s personal.”

“And it’s about me. If it’s personal and about me, it’s my own personal as well.”

“That’s not how it works.”

“Why won’t you tell me?”

“Because I don’t want you to think poorly of me.”

That keeps Phil from responding right away and Steve lets his head roll to the other side. This doesn’t seem to dissuade the Captain, though it does seem to be a cue to lay hands on him again. A warm palm meets Steve’s neck, Phil slipping fingers behind it to coax the agent to look at him.

“Why did you get that tattoo, Steve?”

“Don’t do this.”

“Steve... why?”

“... Because you were one of the two most important things in my life. Because I’m a fan of Phil Coulson and the only symbol you have is the one that comes with the suit. So I got that one.”

Whatever is going on in the Captain’s head has him staying perfectly still and Steve thinks he’s screwed this up. He couldn’t lie to him, he couldn’t refuse either. It was the Captain, for Heaven’s sake. The agent was lucky that he was getting to talk to him at all. He was so sure Fury would have kept them separate, the man knowing far too much as it was, and that probably applied to Steve as well. He didn’t make his adoration for Phil known openly. But there were signs that he was a fan.

Cufflinks and tie pins. Socks and a coffee mug. A book in his desk drawer that had obviously been read a million different times.

A tattoo of a kite shield, marking him the Captain’s more deeply than anything else.

“You care about me.”

“What!?”

Steve’s voice pitches, but so does the room. There’s panic in him, a sure and true lash of it as he moves to get away, sit up, do something. But he can’t, his chest won’t allow it, and neither will a hand that is on the back of his neck, rubbing and soothing as Phil stands up. And the agent, cool and calm even when facing his chest being split open, even when facing a war zone in the desert, wants to hide.

“Do you?”

“I-i-i...”

“Do you care about me?”

Steve can only swallow and nod slowly, the hand on the back of his neck not a vice but no longer an anchor. He’s shaking, he’s wide-eyed, he’s... glad the heart monitor is off as the Captain’s lips meet his own. No. No, no, no. He couldn’t be. This wasn’t. Right. Something was wrong. Was it? This was his pain medication. Surely. This couldn’t be. Happening.

And yet, when he gasps lightly into the the kiss, it’s deepened. And Steve realizes he’s pliant and kissing the Captain back. Completely and utterly lost, but kissing back. Or he is until the other pulls back and then he’s breathless and dazed and the hand that had been cradling his head is now carding through his hair. And all Steve can think of is Phil kissed him. Phil stayed and he kissed him and now he doesn’t know what to do or say or think. He doesn’t know so he does what he always does when he doesn’t know. He bulls through anyways.

“Oh.”

“Oh?”

“I just. Didn’t expect a reaction like that to what I said. Er. Agreed to? I thought you’d be out the door faster than a jack rabbit.”

“Now why would I do that? This... isn’t the first time I’ve felt like this. But it’s the first chance I’ve gotten to really act on it with someone.” Steve finds his fingers locked with the other’s and he’s dazed for a whole other reason and hair is gently brushed back from his face. “Wasn’t exactly allowed where I come from. Illegal. But I’d like to give it a try, if you’re interested. You seem to be. You said you liked Phil Coulson. That’s me, through and through. So, if you want, we can do this. I’d like to.”

The quiet smile in the voice next to him has Steve grinning in return, pink all over. It’s too good to be true but it’s happened, he can tell it has. No one else was that warm, that was all Phil, a radiator of heat. Or so the agent had learned from the times he’d found his hand in the Captain’s over the past days. And it’s only been days for him. He doesn’t know out of the weeks he’s been out how long Phil has sat with him. Worried over him. Watched him struggle unconsciously to work through pain and healing. Scars were present on everyone, but his were a bit redder and newer than most.

Now, more than ever, Steve wants to be up and moving around.

“We’ll work it out,” he comments, squeezing gently the fingers in his own. “We’ll figure it out.”

“Yes. We will.”

“Confidence is key.”

“And who has more of that but you?”

“... I don’t think I can take that as a compliment...”

“Oh?”

It’s easy, this quiet teasing. This floating after the quick rush of the crushing wave. It’s a settling of wills into a certain path, both sets stubborn to a fault. But they’re together and Phil’s fingers keep going through Steve’s hair as if he’s wanted to do this for some time. And maybe he has, Steve won’t know until he asks him. And he’s not asking right now, he’s basking in the warmth of a smile, the shining light of blue-grey eyes.

Everything he’s ever wanted wrapped up in one package named Phil Coulson.

Steve starts at the Captain again with quiet and sweet teases that get more ridiculous as he goes (so what if he’s compared himself to Batman, it works okay, they both have being the night down pat), much to the other’s amusement. It’s something they do, dancing around each other, though the agent has only noticed it now. But this is his life now, this man can be so long as he treats him right. And boy will Steve treat him right. He swears it, upon his heart, and in his head. He will not screw this up. He won’t. Not with Phil.

Because Phil Coulson is the man he wants and wants to love. More than anything else. And when he gets out of this bed, he’ll take him out. Show him exactly that. Not bright lights and movie stars, but quiet dinners and simple flowers. Things that he might like, jazz bands playing at dinner. Things that Phil might appreciate. The man is the best, after all.

And oh yeah, did he forget to mention, he’s Captain America too?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo! Second to last chapter is a go! 
> 
> Many of you are probably wondering why this took so long. I have recently found a job. Which is great for me but somewhat bad for creative times where I can just sit down and write. And this was a lot of writing. Very long in my notes. *nods* But hopefully you enjoy it! I did writing it. Hopefully, the last chapter will not take as long as this one did.


	9. Only the Beginning of the Adventure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He gets a kiss on the back of the neck when he sits and that might help a little too.

It’s required that he take the wheelchair out of the hospital. And the agent dislikes this with most of his being. Procedure isn’t something he necessarily wants to be following, now that he can be up and walking around (slowly, he will admit, but he doesn’t need help anymore). So why he should be in a wheelchair because it’s hospital policy is beyond Steve, who is arguing with his nurse quietly when the thing is rolled in. 

“I don’t need it.” 

“Sir, it’s procedure.” 

“Do you know how often procedure is bunked?” 

“Sir-” 

“Steve. Sit in the damn chair.” 

Of course they’d get Phil to be the one with the handles and Steve goes to argue before sighing. He’d lost that battle without even beginning it, and the Captain is smiling so brightly at him about it that the agent has forgotten that he should be disagreeing. 

He gets a kiss on the back of the neck when he sits and that might help a little too. 

They’re sparks in the night sky, really, Steve thinks as he’s wheeled out grumbling. Good-naturedly but still grumbling nonetheless. Fireflies that only get to shine for a little bit. But this one they’ve caught in a jar and the agent leans back as they get out the sliding glass doors, pulling on sunglasses as he taps his feet against the rests. They’ve caught each other and for as long as they shine, they’re going to stay. 

Which makes a Hell of a difference he thinks as he stands and shuffles in step beside Phil, leaving the wheelchair to the hospital bay and following to the car. Because both are a bit wayward, aren’t they? Just a bit lost in this big old world. He’s never really stopped moving. And Phil… well, the Captain hasn’t been around very long in this brand new world he’s found. 

Steve guesses he gets to show him. Explore a bit of his own home turf, something he hasn’t ever done on his own accord. Then again, he’s never really had someone to share it with. 

And in style, apparently. 

“You want the top up or down?” 

“Holy crap Phil, where did you pick up a car like this?” 

Steve’s sunglasses get looked over the top of as a low whistle of appreciation issues from his lips. What a beauty, all red and white with wood paneling inside. There’s suddenly a warm chest to his back and Steve finds that as pretty as the car is, nothing beats the arms around his waist. Gentle but strong and there, where he never thought they would be. Warm breath ghosts over his ear in a chuckle and the agent leans back against the Captain’s shoulder, content. 

“You should see the one Fury sent along for you.” 

“I get a cool car?” 

“You get a cool car. Mine is restored. Yours is, handily, blue and white.” 

“Sounds like they match.” 

There’s a hum of agreement from the other man as he presses a nose to the soft skin behind Steve’s ear. It leaves the agent with knees made of pudding but he could stand for that to happen more often, he thinks. 

“You ready to go?” 

“With you? Always.” 

Phil opens the door for him and Steve is slow to get inside, bending low still not something he’s real good with as scar tissue starts to pull and physical therapy is going to be painful. Worse than for his knee. 

But the Captain has said he’d come with him, help him out when things got too bad. When breathing became an issue. When pain made his chest hitch and jump and cause him to not want to get up in the mornings. He’d be there. And Steve believed him as he finally settled and caught his breath in the passenger’s seat. 

The Captain is in the driver’s in a heartbeat, already leaning over to check on him and Steve smiles, cupping his neck and kissing him out of the sun and heat. 

“Thank you.” 

“For what?” 

“Coming to pick me up.” 

“You would have gone straight to SHIELD if a car came around.” 

“... You’re not wrong.” 

“You implying I’m not right?” 

It’s gentle teasing and Phil hasn’t moved away, leaning over the almost bench seat of the car. He’s so close that Steve can feel the heat off of him, though that also imprints the hand on his thigh that is gently tracing his knee. As if he knows what the agent is worried about and is offering silent support even now. 

And it’s not like he has removed his hand, either. Steve still has his palmed pressed gently to the thrumming pulse point of the Captain’s neck, reveling in the steadiness of it before he sets his forehead against the other man’s. His voice drops and he feels like he’s come home. 

“I would have gone in.” 

“Paperwork isn’t that important.” 

“It’s what I’m used to.” 

“You should get used to this instead.” 

There’s a gentle kiss from the Captain that turns a bit harder as Steve slips just a bit closer. A smile pulls at the agent’s lips and he finds himself humming softly into the other’s lips before Phil pulls back and reaches up to card a few fingers through his hair. 

“Food. And then I’m taking you home.” 

“Alright. Where are we headed?” 

“You know, I hear that’s a pretty good diner down in Brooklyn…” 

Steve smiles, buckling himself in as the engine starts, his hand dropping to rests on Phil’s on the gear stick as they started off. Together. 

“Yeah? Well, that sounds pretty good to me. Think I can get a slice of pie?” 

“Only if you’re planning on sharing.” 

“Of course.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, I'm sorry this took so long to finish. Work has been kicking my butt recently and I've spent a lot of time winding down from long days and stressful situations. But this story is finally completed! This chapter is not as long as it's brothers in the series but I didn't feel it needed to be. I wanted to tie things up with a neat bow and this seemed to work best where I ended it. And left it open as I wished for a continuation in this universe eventually, either with one-shots or longer tales. 
> 
> I'm working on other, shorter things. I'm hoping to start another Capsicoul story soon that is longer in nature. First things first, but not necessarily in that order, really. <3
> 
> I want to give a special thanks to all who have been following this story. I write because it makes me happy to do so. That some of you have experience delight with the story as it is means the world to me, I'm so glad I could share it with you. 
> 
> Best wishes!

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is dedicated to Lywinis, because they are dear and near to me and helped me out more than they could ever know. Plus, they brought me into Capsicoul, my OTP. What could be better than that?
> 
> Side Note: I am not in the military, nor do I have direct access to someone who is to run my questions by. However, that said, I did as much research as I could to try and match Steve’s experiences up with what would be an actual experience in the military. I’m just always paranoid that the internet lies, even if it's from a creditable sources like GoArmy. If you find an error, please let me know and I will try to fix it. Also, some things are exaggerated / purposefully changed as Steve lives in a world of superheroes, super soldier serums, and mutants.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
